


a map of your stars

by hyruling



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Inspired by Interstellar (2014), M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, author knows nothing about astrophysics or even regular physics, or at least hes not a clown, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyruling/pseuds/hyruling
Summary: Dr. Brand stands, slowly makes his way to Eddie until he can put a hand on his shoulder and look him in the eye.“I can save him today. You can save him tomorrow.”And really, it’s no choice at all.He lifts his chin, holds Brand’s gaze as he says, “Tell me where we're going.”(Interstellar AU)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 86
Kudos: 83





	1. cornfield chase

**Author's Note:**

> quarantine really has me like: i wake up. i rewatch interstellar. i write over 20k of a barely coherent au in 2 days. i post. i log off. 
> 
> i briefly had a thought about writing an interstellar au like a month ago, but after rewatching it this weekend the idea just wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote this. i was also heavily inspired by the incomparable [martian au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348391/chapters/50847964) by kat, who i asked repeatedly if she'd kick my ass for stepping on her 'losers in space' turf before posting this. if you have not read that literally drop everything you're doing, including reading this fic, and allow it to change your life. 
> 
> disclaimers and cws before you read: 
> 
> -this is based off of interstellar, however it's not necessary to have seen it to read (but i would highly recommend watching it just because it's great)  
> -i have the vaguest grasp on about half the plot points in interstellar, despite it being one of my favorite movies, so a LOT of the scientific jargon and incomprehensible gravity talk will be essentially pulled straight from the script. dr. brand is also pulled straight from the movie, so please picture exactly michael caine’s character  
> -ben/beverly, bill/mike, and stan/patty are all going to feature in this, however i didn't tag them because it's not significant enough to put this fic in the tag of someone looking for fic of them specifically.  
> -part 1 is virtually unrecognizable from the movie, as the dynamics i'm working with are obviously very different from a father and his children like in the movie. i also had to try and keep it in character, so bear with me as i get them where they need to be :)  
> -there are significant references to and descriptions of lung disorders in this. nothing graphic, however given our current global situation it might be a sensitive subject so take care of yourself.  
> -rating may change & additional tags may be added as we progress.  
> -all 3 chapters of part 1 will be posted at once. my plan is to do the same with all future parts but we'll see how it goes  
> -title is from 'venus' by sleeping at last

**_part 1_ **

**_2078  
_ ** **_Earth_ **

When people used to talk about the end of the world, long before Eddie was born, they spoke of water. 

Global warming was the boogeyman in the closet, the distant monster that threatened them from the safe place of ‘later’. Scientists painted vivid pictures of oceans rising, ice caps melting, of the world drowning beneath it’s hubris. Others predicted disease, claiming the human race would be wiped out by influenza long before the polar bears were gone. 

No one predicted the dust. 

**_2070  
_ ** **_Earth_ **

Eddie was twenty-two when the first blight wiped out the world’s wheat. 

He woke up in a cold sweat that morning. Two years into med school and his worst nightmares consisted of misplaced stethoscopes and gloves that didn’t fit his hands and air embolisms — he blinked them away and sat up straight, running a hand over his sleep-sticky eyes. The alarm on his nightstand beeped for a full two minutes before Eddie remembered to silence it. 

Richie was already awake when he shuffled into their tiny shared kitchen. He grunted some sort of greeting that Richie didn’t return, too engrossed in something on his tablet. 

Eddie made his coffee and sat opposite him, and the moment he got a good look at Richie’s face he knew something terrible had happened. Richie never looked like that, not even at Eddie’s mother’s funeral the year before. 

“What’s up Rich?” Eddie had asked, setting his mug down carefully with a quiet clink against their cheap metal breakfast table. 

Wordlessly, Richie handed over his tablet. Eddie read the headline, then read it again, feeling himself go cold all over the more he read. 

“Oh my god.” 

Richie only nodded, hands shaking as he sipped his coffee. 

“Did you call Mike?” Eddie asked next. He put down the tablet before it shattered with how hard his hands clenched on the edges.

“Not yet. Bill’s with him. I didn’t want to freak him out any more.” 

“Shit,” Eddie swore, head falling into his hands. 

The piece of toast Richie hadn’t finished felt like a betrayal on the table between them. Richie’s voice was uncharacteristically hollow when he spoke next. 

“Don’t think either of us will be home on time tonight, Eds.” 

**_2075  
_ ** **_Earth_ **

Five years later, Eddie finishes his residency and graduates summa cum laude from Baylor. He tries not to think of the ghosts in the auditorium as he walks across the stage. 

Five of his classmates dropped out halfway through their residency, pressured or guilted into abandoning their career to care for their families, or to put their brains to use in synthetic food manufacturing and farming. The ceremony is short, with nearly half of his fellow doctors gone before they could earn their white coat. 

Richie and Mike cheer obnoxiously for him in the crowd. Richie brought noisemakers and air horns, of course, and Eddie can’t even find it in himself to be angry. At least they’re here — Bill has long since left, whisked away by NASA hotshots to help pilot a secret mission he’s forbidden from talking about. It’s been two years since any of them have heard from him. 

They celebrate back home at Mike’s that night. Eddie keeps his dad’s plane at Mike’s farmhouse, and he’s been itching to fly for _years._

Richie hates flying, but he slides in the seat next to the cockpit anyway, expressing how unsafe flying is often and loudly. In any other aspect of their lives, their roles are usually reversed, and Eddie can’t help but laugh at the irony. Mike folds his long body in the back — and since when did his friends get so fucking _tall?_ Eddie feels the rumble of the engine beneath him, feels Richie’s fingers digging into the skin of his forearm as he pulls her up, up, up, and it feels like home. 

“Why the _fuck_ did I agree to this, oh my god,” Richie’s voice crackles over the headset. 

Eddie looks over; his eyes are screwed shut, glasses digging into his face from the helmet, and he’s still holding onto Eddie for dear life. The waning sun casts shadows over his face until Eddie dips them west, and then the light of the sunset makes his skin shine gold. Richie opens his eyes and blinks at Eddie, nervous grin on his face, eyes bluer than Eddie’s ever seen. 

“Get your eyes back on the sky, fucking lunatic,” Richie chastises, Mike laughing loudly in his other ear. 

Eddie knows in that moment that he’s in love with him. 

He nearly crashes the plane. 

* * *

Six months later, Mike’s dad passes away, and Richie and Eddie move out of their tiny downtown apartment and into Mike’s farmhouse. Mike puts up a hell of a fight about it, but he can’t run the farm by himself and he knows it. And these days, no one can afford a farm going under; it’s the only thing keeping the world alive. 

Texas is a big place, and the rural outcrop where the four of them (god, he misses Bill) grew up is about an hour from Eddie’s hospital, but he doesn’t mind the commute. Richie is still finishing up school, about five months from earning his Ph.D. in biochemistry. He spends half his time in the cornfields anyway, studying the crops and the soil and researching for his dissertation. Eddie knows he secretly hates his research, but it’s been a year since the last successful okra harvest. None of them can afford for him to choose something more interesting. Richie’s schedule is flexible, and he’s able to help Mike keep the farm going when Eddie can’t. They switch shifts on the weekends when Eddie’s not at the hospital.

He’s never been more thankful for his foresight to specialize in pulmonology. 

A month into Eddie’s job at Houston Methodist, his entire caseload is what the staff refer to colloquially as ‘dust disease’. Another term often heard is ‘farmer’s pneumoconiosis’, a phrase that hasn’t been used in decades, referring to old coal miners. Outside of the medical field, the condition is most commonly referred to as ‘red lung’. 

The first symptom is a severe cough that can lead to fibrosis of the lungs if not treated with oxygen. The only real cure is transplant, and Eddie performs three within his first two weeks. 

Eddie spends countless nights lying awake worrying — he knows Richie and Mike don’t use their masks as often as they should, Richie especially, despite his frequent lectures. He snags two medical grade filtered masks from the hospital one night to bring home, and makes both of them swear to wear them in the field. He nearly slices open their palms and forces them to make a blood oath before Richie puts his hands on his shoulders and steers him to a chair, guiding him through breathing exercises until Eddie calms down. 

He hates that it works. 

**_2076  
_ ** **_Earth_ **

On Eddie’s twenty-eighth birthday, Richie wakes him by climbing into his bed and curling around his back. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Richie says in his ear, breath hot on his neck. 

It’s eerily similar to a dream Eddie had not ten minutes ago, and he squirms in Richie’s grip. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed, Richie?” he growls, refusing to open his eyes. 

“Giving you your birthday gift,” Richie answers readily. He twists his neck around and plants a wet kiss on Eddie’s cheek. 

“Ugh,” Eddie says, wiping his face on the comforter so Richie can’t see him blush. “A better gift would be to get the fuck off me so I don’t piss the bed.”  
  
“Grumpy,” Richie chastises, but he climbs off obligingly. Eddie misses his warmth immediately. 

When he comes downstairs thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, Richie is busy laying out an enormous breakfast. Eggs, bacon, fruit (sliced bananas — the only fruit to survive the blight so far). And—

“Pancakes?” Eddie asks incredulously. “How the fuck did you make pancackes?” 

“Surprise!” Richie crows, delight written across his face. “Wait, wait, I forgot, Mike where are the—” 

“Here,” Mike says, holding a package out to Richie. Richie takes it and pulls out a single red birthday candle, carefully fitting it into the center of the tower of pancakes. Eddie feels like he’s going to burst. 

“Richie, how…” Eddie trails off breathlessly. 

Richie only grins in response, looking up at Eddie from under his eyelashes above the huge stack. 

“I’ll never reveal my secrets.” 

“If you’re telling me you invented a way to make pancakes without wheat and you’re _not_ sharing that information with the FDA, I will throw my shoe at you.” 

“He has a hidden stash of flour,” Mike confided with an eye roll. Richie rounds on him with a wounded look. 

“Hey! Traitor!” Richie says, pointing an accusing finger at Mike. Mike simply pushes his hand out of the way and walks over to the coffee pot in the corner. 

“You have a hidden stash of _flour_?” Eddie asks. 

Richie looks almost shy when he turns back to Eddie. “ _Had_. I uh, sort of used the last of it on these bad boys.” 

“Why?” 

Richie flushes; Mike turns and leans against the counter to watch the exchange, sipping his coffee with a shit eating grin on his face. Eddie barely notices, eyes trained on the color on Richie’s cheeks. 

“Pancakes were your favorite,” Richie says softly. Eddie’s insides turn to _mush_. “And I’ve had that stash for like, four years, it was gonna go bad soon so like, I figured… why not, it’s a special occasion.” 

“Rich,” Eddie breathes. 

He has to sit down. He does, heavily, on the nearest chair at the end of the table. Richie smiles at him, and he’s hit with a wave of adoration so strong it makes him a little nauseous. 

Richie blinks, shakes his head a little and picks up the plate. 

“Alright, let’s… we need to eat these before they turn to stone. Also it’s been a _minute_ since I’ve made these, so if they’re disgusting, keep it to yourself, please and thank you.”

He sets the stack in front of Eddie and produces a lighter. Once the candle is lit, he and Mike sing ‘happy birthday’ loudly and horribly off key, and Eddie laughs so hard he snorts. The three of them eat like it’s the first time they’ve ever tasted pancakes, barely speaking between bites. Richie hugs Eddie before he leaves for work, whispering another ‘happy birthday’ in his ear with his arms wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie deems it the best birthday he’s ever had. 

* * *

He gets the call two weeks after his birthday. 

Frank Kaspbrak was a renowned pilot with NASA, until he died in 2061 when Eddie was thirteen. Eddie’s mother raised him after that, overbearing and overprotective to the point of suffocation. She still kept all of Frank’s old crop planes, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop Eddie from flying. 

Eddie learned to fly at the ripe old age of eight, when his father finally let him sit in his lap and work the controls under his supervision. He was fully capable of solo piloting by age ten, though neither of his parents ever allowed it. Still, it was good bragging rights, and Eddie was sure to use it to his advantage to impress Big Bill Denbrough two doors down. 

“There’s no way you can fly that thing,” Richie, age ten, said with a sneer when Eddie was telling Bill about his dad’s plane at school. 

“Yeah huh,” Eddie argued, crossing his arms defiantly. “I can _so_ , my friend Mikey has seen me do it!” 

“Who’s Mikey?” Bill asked politely while Richie scoffed. 

“My best friend,” Eddie said proudly. “He’s homeschooled. He lives down the road from us. My dad uses his plane to fertilize their crops” 

“Well I think you and Mikey are full of shit, just like your stupid plane,” Richie interrupted, grinning at Eddie’s horrified face. He’d never heard a kid their age swear out loud before. 

“I’m not!” Eddie said, lowering his voice when their teacher gave them a look. “I’m _not._ ” 

“Prove it,” Richie said. “We’ll come over after school and you can fly it.” 

“I— I can’t, not without my dad,” Eddie admitted. “But when he gets home, I’ll show you.”

“Nope,” Richie said, popping the ‘p’. “Won’t believe it till I see you in the cockpit, Spaghetti.” 

Bill giggled at the way he’d emphasized ‘cockpit’, and Eddie felt his cheeks heat up. 

“My name is _Eddie_ ,” Eddie snarled. “And— fine! My mommy— my _mom_ doesn’t get home till six. I’ll show you.” 

“Deal,” Richie agreed, holding out his hand. 

Eddie looked between Richie and Bill, who only shrugged. Eddie took his sweaty hand and yanked it back fast. 

“ _Gross_ , dude.” 

Mike met them at Eddie’s house after school. He backed up Eddie’s claim that he could fly, but Richie still demanded proof, so the four of them snuck out to Frank’s small hangar out amongst the barren farmland behind the house. Eddie climbed into the cockpit of the smaller plane, the one he knew he could steer better. 

“Eddie, are y-you s-s-sure about this?” Bill asked, nerves making his stutter worse. 

“He can do it Bill,” Mike said confidently, nudging Bill’s shoulder. “Promise.”

Richie’s eyes were wide and huge behind his thick glasses when Eddie turned the engine on. The front rotor blades blew the dust up, making Richie cough, and Eddie grinned as he started to back it up out of the hangar. 

Eddie focused, remembered each step of take off perfectly, and when he was in the air he could hear Richie swearing loudly from far below him. He smiled, and shouted in triumph, waving at them from a few hundred feet up. 

He flew down to the Hanlons and back, and landed smoothly on the small landing strip he’d helped his dad make with some spray paint. When he cut the engine he could hear the others whooping, and his grin nearly split his face when he climbed out and the three of them accosted him. 

“Holy sh-shit Eddie!”  
  
“You’re crazy, you’re _crazy_ , you fucking mad man!” 

Eddie let them pat him on the back and shower him with praise, laughing when Richie tried to lift him on his shoulders. Bill caught him when Richie dropped him, and Mike ruffled Eddie’s hair. 

“Eddie!” 

The four of them froze. Frank Kaspbrak was across the yard. His hands were on his hips, head tilted angrily, but to this day Eddie swears he saw him smile. 

“Oh shit,” Richie swore next to him. 

His mother grounded him for a week, but Eddie didn’t care. He had friends at school, he _impressed_ Bill Denbrough, and now when stupid Bowers and his gang tried to mess with him at school he’d have backup. The second his punishment was lifted, the four of them were inseparable. 

Now, Eddie’s twenty-eight, sitting across from a Dr. Klok at NASA, listening to him wax poetic about his dead father, wondering how the fuck he got here. 

“Your dad really was the best we’ve ever had,” Dr. Klok is saying when Eddie tunes back in. 

Eddie shifts and nods politely. He hasn’t worn a necktie since his graduation as he spends nearly all of his time in scrubs, and it’s choking him. 

“We understand he taught you how to fly,” Dr. Klok says, watching him appraisingly. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Uh, yes sir.” 

Dr. Klok smiles; it’s not a pleasant smile, Eddie thinks. His eyes are piercingly blue, unsettling as he looks Eddie over. Did he tie his tie right? Richie helped him, surely it’s not knotted funny. Maybe he spilled coffee on his blazer? 

“Do you still fly these days?” 

Eddie nods. “Yes, I— well, it’s just a crop duster, but I fly at least twice a week to fertilize all the nearby farms, spray pesticides, that kind of thing.” 

“Do you get paid?” 

Eddie hesitates; what the _fuck_ is this meeting? 

He’s a little terse when he answers, “No sir, I do it for free. I live on a farm with two of my friends, they need someone to— I work as a physician at Houston Methodist.” 

“I know,” Dr. Klok says. He flicks the piece of paper in his hands. “I have your resume here. Pulmonologist. Very impressive.” 

“Thank you,” Eddie says hesitantly. “Dr. Klok, listen, I was flattered for the opportunity to meet with you, but I’m afraid I’m not really understanding why I’m here.” 

Dr. Klok looks at him again in that unsettling way; Eddie just barely resists the urge to flinch under the weight of his disquieting gaze. 

“You’re here to interview, Dr. Kaspbrak. Did I not make that clear?” 

“Interview?” Eddie repeats. “I don’t— I thought—” 

“I know what you thought,” Dr. Klok interrupts. “We didn’t think we’d get a chance to talk if we didn’t lure you in with all that talk about your father’s legacy.” 

Eddie bristles, barely keeping a lid on his anger. His voice is tight when he speaks. “Lure me in? Why did I need to be lured in, exactly?” 

“Dr. Kaspbrak. You may not realize this, but NASA is a dying field,” Dr. Klok says bluntly. “The age of space exploration is behind us. No one cares about going to Mars, or studying black holes when their children are starving and suffocating. But we think there’s still value in what we do. There may come a time when Earth is no longer viable, and then the people on this planet will need us to find their new home.” 

“Wait,” Eddie says, head spinning. “You’re talking about— setting up a colony on another planet?” 

Dr. Klok nods. “Now you’re getting there.” 

“But that’s not possible. The Ares missions proved that. There are no other habitable planets in the solar system.” 

“In _our_ solar system,” Dr. Klok corrects. 

“ _What_?” Eddie asks. His tie is definitely too tight; he must be cutting off circulation to his head. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Listen, the details will come later,” Dr. Klok says. “In a few months, six, if we’re lucky, NASA will all but cease to exist. We need pilots, and your dad was the best we’ve had since the 2030s. And it never hurts to have a physician on board either.” 

“On board for what?” Eddie asks sharply. 

“We want you to join NASA. We’re recruiting you, Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

Eddie sits back. Unconsciously, he loosens his tie — it does nothing to alleviate the sensation that his head is spinning on its axis like a globe. 

“We’re giving you an opportunity to be part of something bigger than yourself,” Dr. Klok continues while Eddie sits in stunned silence. “What we’re talking about here would save the planet. Save _humanity_. You save people everyday — we want you to help us save everyone.” 

“I—” Eddie croaks. He swallows. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t just— I can’t just _leave_ , I have patients, and… family,” he says, seeing Richie and Mike’s faces swim in his field of vision. 

“We know. Dr. Denbrough spoke highly of your friends.” 

_Fuck._

“Bill?” Eddie gasps. “Bill, he’s— he’s part of this?” 

“He was key to this mission,” Dr. Klok confirms. “He and another brave soul helped me come up with this plan.” 

“Can I see him?” Eddie asks, stupidly. It’s been _years_ , and the desire to see him again outweighs his common sense. 

Dr. Klok smiles; it’s not any more pleasant this time. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. He doesn’t know we’re speaking to you, and he’s taking off in a few days. We can’t allow any distractions.”  
  
“Taking off? He’s _leaving?_ ” Eddie says, nearly coming out of his chair. “No, I need to see him, please, just— just for a few minutes.” 

“We can’t do that,” Dr. Klok repeats. “But if you agree to join us, I can give you as many details of his mission as you like.” 

Eddie laughs, short and furious. “So you’re blackmailing me?”

“Dr. Kaspbrak you misunderstand,” Dr. Klok says quietly, almost sinister. “You can refuse me and walk out of here with no repercussions. You can go back to your farm and your patients in peace. I only mentioned Dr. Denbrough as a reference. He thinks very highly of you.” 

“Bullshit,” Eddie snarls, interview etiquette so far out the window it might as well be on Mars. Dr. Klok only offers that cold smile in response. “You brought him up as some kind of last ditch effort to get me to say yes.” 

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” 

Dr. Klok stands; Eddie does too, defensive instincts responding before logic can catch up with him. 

Dr. Klok walks around the desk and extends his hand, a universal symbol indicating the meeting has ended. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kaspbrak. I hope you change your mind. If you do, please call me.” 

Eddie takes his hand, and then his card a moment later, and then he’s escorted out of the building before he can fully process what’s happening. 

He sits in Mike’s truck for a long time after, staring blankly at the dashboard. He thinks of Bill, who hated the idea of farming for the rest of his life, who ran off before he’d even finished his doctorate to escape to the stars. Who broke Mike’s heart, and didn’t call once. It took _years_ for Eddie to forgive him, far longer than it took Mike and Richie, and even now his blood pumps hot and angry when he thinks of Bill driving away, silent tears tracking down Mike’s face as he left. 

He thinks of Bill before. Before the blight, before the dust. His bright and unwavering zest for life and the future, his wide eyed certainty that the four of them were going to change the world. 

Christ, he misses that fucker. 

He drives home in a daze; it doesn’t matter. The roads are always nearly empty these days but for tractors and pickups delivering what meager crops they can produce. Interstate gives way to dirt roads when he hits the outskirts of town, and never ending rows of corn on either side. He’s almost forgotten what it looked like before all the corn. 

He pulls into Mike’s drive, blinded at first by the dust the truck has kicked up. When it settles, he sees Richie at the edge of the cornfield nearest to the house, crouched over the soil, so engrossed in whatever he’s doing he doesn’t seem to hear Eddie pull up. He straightens for a minute to consult his clipboard and idly turns to face Eddie. 

He’s not wearing a mask. 

“Richie!” Eddie bellows. 

Richie looks up, grinning at the sound of Eddie’s voice. It fades when he catches sight of Eddie’s expression. His free hand flies to his face, guiltily covering his nose and mouth with it. Eddie pulls his own cloth mask over his face and storms over. 

“Hey Spaghetti,” Richie says sheepishly when Eddie is within earshot. “Look at you all cute in your fancy suit—”  
  
“Richie, what the fuck,” Eddie interrupts, shoving at Richie’s shoulder. He’s wearing a black tshirt under his plaid flannel, though you’d never know with how thickly it’s coated in dust. 

“Eds, listen—” 

“Don’t fucking call me Eds right now, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Eddie snaps. “There was a dust storm _two_ hours ago Richie, and how many fucking times have I come home with horror stories about red lung? And then I come home to find you fucking _huffing_ the shit like it’s cocaine?”

“I’m not huffing the dust, oh my god Eddie,” Richie says with a helpless laugh. “Mike thinks there’s too much ammonia in the soil, I need to be able to smell it. And I can barely fucking breathe in that plague beak you gave me, let alone _smell_ —” 

“Aren’t you a biochemist? Don’t you have fucking tools for that other than your own goddamn nose?” 

“Yeah, but nothing’s more reliable than this right here,” Richie says, tapping his nose with a wink. 

“Well it’s certainly fucking big enough,” Eddie huffs. 

Richie throws his head back and laughs. “Eds gets off a good one!” 

“Fuck off. Here.” 

Eddie removes his mask and reaches up to fit it over Richie’s head. Richie keeps his eyes on Eddie’s face as he works to fit it over his mouth and nose, and if Eddie’s hand lingers on Richie’s cheek a second too long, it’s not like anyone is around to call him out on it. 

“There. It’s cotton, so you should still be able to smell your dirt, or whatever,” Eddie says as he adjusts Richie’s glasses so they won’t fog up with the mask on. 

He can’t see Richie’s smile, but he can see the way his eyes crinkle, left eye squintier than the right. 

“You’re so sweet to me, Eddie pie,” Richie coos. Eddie rolls his eyes. “How’d the big meeting go? What did they want?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ll tell you at dinner. Finish your work.” 

Richie salutes and turns around to kneel in the soil again. Eddie watches the muscles of his shoulders move under his shirt for a few moments before retreating back to the house. 

Eddie explains everything to Richie and Mike over corn casserole that night, the fifth time in as many weeks that they’ve had it for dinner. If they ever manage to regrow any other vegetable in his lifetime, Eddie’s swearing off corn for good. 

Mike and Richie listen attentively as Eddie talks. Richie in particular listens raptly, eyes wide and intrigued behind his glasses. He didn’t shower after working today, and there’s a smudge of dust on his cheek Eddie’s been trying to ignore all night. He tells them everything Klok told him, minus the parts about Bill. He doesn’t want to open that can tonight. It only occurs to him after he’s done that spilling all of NASA’s secrets like this would probably be frowned upon. 

“Shit,” Richie breathes when Eddie finishes, pushing his half-eaten plate away. “Holy shit, Eddie, you’re gonna be an astronaut?” 

“ _No,_ ” Eddie says emphatically. “Did you not hear the part where I didn’t accept?” 

“Yeah but you didn’t say no either, not really,” Richie argues. 

“I am not becoming an astronaut,” Eddie says slowly.

“God, remember how bad I wanted to be one growing up?” Richie asks them. Mike chuckles. 

“You made us build rockets out of foil with you everyday for a year. We remember,” Mike says drily. 

“Okay, exaggerate much Michael?” Richie says. “It was not a _year._ Leave it to Bill and Eddie to land _my_ dream job over me.”

“I’m _not_ — I’m not taking it, Rich,” Eddie says firmly. “I’m not interested, I have responsibilities here, I have patients. And who else is gonna fly the duster? You?” 

“Details,” Richie says with a wave of his hand. “There are other doctors that can take over your patients. And someone else around here has got to know how to fly that death trap.” 

“Do you know how long your mission would be?” Mike asks. “How long would you be up?” 

Richie shifts uneasily. Eddie catches his eye briefly and looks away. 

“We didn’t discuss it,” Eddie says. “I would imagine… a year or so, at least.” 

“Fuck,” Richie says. His face falls, like he hadn’t realized Eddie would actually have to leave . 

“It’s insane,” Eddie says, stabbing at the sludge on his plate half heartedly. “I mean, there would be at least six months of training, and then they actually expect me to fly a fucking spaceship? No. Fuck no. I’m not an engineer, or a— a physicist. I’m not up for this.” 

“Eddie baby,” Richie says. Eddie covers up his blush by glaring. “You’re selling yourself short. Which is hard to do, when you’re already so shor—”

Eddie smacks his shoulder — dust flies off his clothes in a mini cloud, and he smacks him again for not cleaning up properly before dinner. Richie laughs and grabs his wrist, pulling it down against the table. He leaves his hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist when he talks. 

“I’m serious,” Richie says when he stops laughing. “You did undergrad in two years, you were in med school at age twenty, you graduated top of your class a year and a half earlier than most people, you’re basically the number one surgeon at Methodist after, what, a year? You were flying planes at ten years old. You’re fucking amazing, dude. You could absolutely do this if you wanted to.” 

Eddie does blush then, sparing a glance at Mike in his embarrassment. Mike nods in agreement, which doesn’t help. 

“And Mike is _basically_ a mechanical engineer in all but name, he can help you with anything you don’t get right away.” 

“He’s right,” Mike agrees. “Anything you need.” 

“Guys, I’m not doing this.” 

“Fine, then I will,” Richie says with a sly grin. 

Eddie turns to him so fast he nearly cricks his neck. “ _What_? Rich, you hate flying.” 

Richie shrugs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Who said anything about flying? Surely they could use a biochemist on the ground.” 

“Richie—” 

“I mean you said they’re desperate enough to start head hunting, why not throw my hat in the ring?” 

“That’s not how it works. They crosstrain everyone, you’ll _have_ to be able to pilot an aircraft.” 

“Alright, so, it’s better than therapy! I’ll overcome my fears, voila. You can take me up a few times until I can do it without puking.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.” 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Mike muses. Eddie glares. “I feel so guilty keeping you cooped up here. You’re too smart to do this forever, Richie. You’re wasted here.” 

“You’re not keeping me here, Mikey,” Richie says gently. 

Mike picks up his glass, takes a small sip of his whiskey. The look on his face tells Eddie he doesn’t believe it. 

“I chose to be here, okay?” Richie continues. “We both did. Don’t ever think you’re like, holding me hostage or something, you’re _not_.” 

“I know that. But if you really want to pursue this, I want you to. I can manage here alone now that I’ve got all the combines running automatically.” 

“You’re too smart for this too, Mike,” Eddie says. 

Mike smiles, swirling his drink around and around in it’s glass. 

“Maybe. But it’s what's necessary.” 

* * *

  
  


The subject drops after that first night. 

Eddie goes back to his patients. Richie goes back to his research. Mike automates all their farm equipment until it’s running like a well oiled machine. 

They don’t revisit the topic for two and a half years. 

  
  


**_2078  
_ ** **_Earth_ **

  
  


Richie finds Eddie on their porch late one night, when the sun has long since set and the crickets are out in full force. Richie’s footsteps disturb the dust that’s settled on the wood. Eddie takes a swig of Mike’s whiskey and grimaces as it burns. 

“Never seen you drink that, Eds,” Richie says. 

He sits in the chair and pulls the cap off his beer bottle. Eddie’s never understood how he does that without a bottle opener, how his hands aren’t sliced to pieces. 

“I called into work tomorrow,” Eddie says while Richie takes a long drink, obstinately not looking at his throat. “Figured I could afford the hangover.” 

They sit in contemplative quiet. It’s rare for them to be quiet together, but not as rare as some might think. They’re often quiet together, in the dark hours of the night when Eddie pulls Richie out of his nightmares and sits with him until he falls asleep again. Or on the terrible nights after Eddie loses a patient and refuses to talk to anyone — Richie is always right there with him, a quiet steady presence in his bedroom, lying beside him and stroking his hair while Eddie stares at the wall. 

“Any particular reason you called into work? You feeling okay?” Richie asks. 

“I got a letter today.” 

He feels Richie look at him. “A letter? Who still sends letters?” 

Eddie takes a drink. “NASA.” 

Richie whistles under his breath. “Is it weird that I like, completely forgot about that whole thing?” 

Eddie grins. “We’ve been busy,” he says, gesturing to the farm at large, at the piles of dust that grow bigger and bigger every passing year. 

“Yeah. I guess. What’d they want?”

Eddie sighs. “Same thing they wanted two years ago. For me to reconsider their offer.” 

“An offer you couldn’t possibly refuse?” Richie asks, doing his stupid godfather voice; it makes Eddie laugh despite himself. 

“God. Still awful.” 

“Thank you. Really though, what did it say?” 

Eddie sighs. 

“Read it yourself.”  
  
Eddie pulls the paper from his pocket and hands it over. Richie unfolds and reads, his eyes tracking quickly over the letter. 

“Shit Eddie. They want you _bad._ ” 

“They’re obviously desperate,” Eddie agrees. 

“Shut up. They wouldn’t pursue you again after two years just out of desperation. They’ve got a _massive_ hard on for you, dude.” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose and shoots Richie a look. “I don’t understand _why_ , Rich. I’m not my dad, they hardly know anything _about_ me. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

Richie considers him for a long moment. He takes a sip of beer and looks out at the sky. “Eds, the world is dying. We talk about it all the time. Every _day_ . I see how frustrated you are when you come home from work, how helpless you feel. The same frustration we _all_ feel. If they’re asking you to be part of something that could make a difference… I think it’s worth considering.” 

Eddie stares at him for a long time after he’s done. “Listen to you. You okay after all that sincerity?” 

Richie grins. “I might puke, actually. That was hard. That’s what he said. There, okay, I’m better.” 

Eddie laughs, and they sit in silence for a while again, quietly sipping their drinks and listening to the sounds of the night. 

Richie disturbs it after a few minutes with a coughing fit out of nowhere. At first Eddie thinks his beer went down wrong, until he hears the distinct wheeze on the tail end that has him out of his seat and in Richie’s face before he’s even caught his breath.  
  
“Eds, what—” 

“How long have you had that cough, Richie?” Eddie asks, hands reacting on instinct. He finds Richie’s pulse and counts; Richie’s skin is warm under his fingers, his pulse as fast as Eddie’s feels. 

“That’s the first time Eddie, promise,” Richie says, holding up his free hand to cross his heart. 

“I’m getting my stethoscope.” 

Richie grabs his wrist and holds him in place. “No, don’t, come on. I just inhaled wrong, got a nose full of dust.” 

“Then I’m getting you a mask.” 

“Eds, come on. Relax. Sit down, please.” 

Eddie stares at him for a long moment. Richie’s hand curls tighter, pointer finger overlapping his thumb, fully encircling Eddie’s wrist. He pulls himself free and shivers, making a point to cross his arms as he sits, as though it’s the chilly night that’s to blame. 

Richie lets the silence linger for another few minutes before he asks quietly, “I know we haven’t talked about it in two years, but now that you… uh. Do you think me applying to NASA is really a bad idea?” 

Eddie looks over. Richie is staring at his bottle, picking at the edge of the label. It’s dark but for the dim porch light, but Eddie can still detect the slight flush of his cheeks. 

“No, Richie,” Eddie answers finally. “Mike was right, you know. You’re way too smart for what this stupid broken planet put on you. You _should_ be somewhere like NASA, where you can put that big dumb brain to use for something good.”

Richie grins, cheeks pink, and looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Yeah? Mister medical doctor thinks I’m smart, huh?” 

“You’re a doctor too, dumbass,” Eddie says, taking a sip of his drink to hide his smile. “Just because you decided to use that doctorate to smell dirt doesn’t mean you didn’t earn it.” 

Richie laughs, and it morphs quickly into another cough, though shorter and less concerning than the first. Eddie still eyes him suspiciously until Richie waves him off. “Just leftover dirt in my throat from all that huffing, don’t worry.” 

“It’s literally my job to worry,” Eddie deadpans, and Richie grins. 

“I know. You’re always looking out for me, Eds.” 

Eddie has to look away when Richie smiles at him all crooked and soft. He turns back to the cornfields to avoid saying something he’ll regret. 

“What are you going to do?” Richie asks. 

Eddie sighs again. “You know what I’m going to do, Rich.” 

He sees Richie nod out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. I do.” 

They finish their drinks. Eddie feels a bit like he just took a shot of caffeine rather than alcohol. Wired, endless energy vibrating under his skin. Richie seems to be feeling the same, leg jiggling anxiously next to Eddie’s, close enough to touch if he moved his foot an inch or two to the left. 

“You wanna see something weird?” Richie asks after a minute. 

“Fuck yes, please. Anything to keep us from just sitting here staring at dirt,” Eddie says, earning another belly laugh from Richie. 

He follows Richie inside, leaving his empty glass on the kitchen table. Richie tosses his beer and grabs another, and leads Eddie upstairs. 

When they moved in, Mike moved into his parent’s old room. Eddie took the spare, and Richie took Mike’s childhood bedroom. Mike left his miniature library in there; the south-facing wall is composed entirely of bookshelves. There was just enough space leftover for Richie to add his and Eddie’s textbooks to the collection when they moved in. 

Richie leads him to his room. He opens the door and gestures for Eddie to go in first. He nearly trips on his way in, an old dusty collection of poetry blocking the entrance. 

“Richie, what the hell,” Eddie says, stepping over the book and into his bedroom. His bed is unmade, but it doesn’t look slept in. His dresser is a mess of soil samples and tensiometers, because he refuses to set up a proper workshop in the shed. 

“Yeah, what the hell is right,” Richie says, closing the door quietly so they don’t disturb Mike. 

The floor is littered with books. Eddie steps around them carefully, idly reading the titles of the hardcovers on the floor. Richie crawls into his bed; from his position against the headboard he’s facing the bookshelf, and he watches Eddie prowl carefully around the room. 

“Why did you do this? Were you... looking for something?” 

“As much as you love to give me shit for my penchant for clutter, I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this one, Spaghetti.” 

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Richie settles more comfortably against the pillows. “Look at the bookshelf, Eds.” 

Eddie looks up. There are evenly spaced empty slots along the middle row of shelves. Eddie stares for a long time, but he clearly doesn’t see whatever it is Richie wants him to see. He shrugs at Richie, who sighs and pats the bed next to him. 

“Come, sit. You’ll see it better from here.” 

He hates the way his heart pounds as he climbs in next to Richie. He leans back against the headboard, pressed together shoulder to shoulder with Richie. Richie points to the shelf with his left hand, brushing Eddie’s bare arm as he does. 

“See? Look at the spaces.” 

“I’m _looking_ at the spaces, Rich. What about them?” 

“There’s a _pattern._ ” 

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge or his nose. “So, what, you pulled all these books out to write a message in Morse code? Are you that bored?” 

“Oh, Morse, I didn’t think of that,” Richie says cheerfully. “My theory was binary.” 

“Richie.” 

“Sorry. But no. I told you Eddie, I didn’t do this.” 

Eddie turns and stares. “If you don’t explain yourself in five seconds, I’m twisting your nipples off of your body.” 

“Kinky.” 

He covers his chest and angles away from Eddie when he reaches out, giggling far too delightedly for someone who’s about to have two less nipples.

  
“Okay, okay, uncle!” Richie cries. Eddie ignores him, fingers busy trying to pry Richie’s hands away from his chest. Richie pulls them away fast, using the momentum to wrap his arms around Eddie’s chest and hold his arms down. “Truce, you little menace.” 

He says it directly in Eddie’s ear. This asshole _has_ to know what he’s doing to him. 

“I’m not conceding until you explain,” Eddie says breathlessly. 

“Fine,” Richie says in his ear. “I was laying in bed, getting ready to jerk off to the image of your mother—”  
  
“ _Richie—_ ”

He struggles, but Richie has him pinned tight. He will _not_ let his dick get any ideas about it. 

“Anyway, there I am with my KY and my tissues, when all the sudden I hear a bang. I look up, and I see books strewn all over my floor. At first I thought one of Mike’s combines gained sentience and was trying to destroy it’s human creators, but when I came outside all I found was good old Eddie drinking whiskey and rye.” 

“It was just whiskey, dumbfuck.” 

“Oh Eds. You’re so uncultured it’s adorable.” 

Richie releases his grip, and Eddie pulls away fast. He puts as much space between them on the bed as he can, then looks between the bookshelf and Richie. “You’re telling me those books just fell off of their own accord.” 

“Yep.” 

Eddie blinks. “They just. Fell off. All at once, and left you a message in _binary_.” 

“Well I think Morse is more likely, now that you’ve mentioned it.” 

“I take it back,” Eddie says with a laugh. “You’re way too dumb for NASA, how the fuck did you swindle your way into a Phd.” 

“Probably because of my sex appeal,” Richie says without missing a beat. “And before you bring it up, Dr. Scott was in a _totally_ different department. Sleeping with him did _not_ increase my GPA by a single decimal point.” 

“No, but it was still extremely unethical of him. And slutty of you,” Eddie grumbles. 

“You’re just jealous,” Richie says. Eddie freezes, heart jumping to his throat until he adds, “You always wanted to sleep with that one professor of yours, what was their name—” 

“Fuck you no I didn’t!” Eddie snaps, horrified. He picks up Richie’s pillow and hurls it at his face while Richie cackles. “I _admired_ Dr. Beck, there was nothing _sexual_ about it, you fuckwad.” 

“Then why is your face so red, Spaghetti Head?”

Eddie hits him again. 

* * *

Internet has long been a thing of the past. Having any sort of wifi in one’s personal home is nearly unheard of since the second wave of blight in 2071. Richie had to travel to the library two towns over every time he needed to work on his research; Mike seemingly stored everything he’d ever need to know in his own head and rarely needs to seek it out. Eddie never needs it for personal use, but as a physician he has privileges. Most hospitals have a meager Wifi connection for physician’s to use should they need to consult with another doctor, or look up surgical techniques that just can’t be demonstrated in a textbook. Richie chides him often for not abusing this privilege.

He reschedules his first patient Monday morning and uses the free hour to research NASA as best he can. Dr. Klok wasn’t lying when he said it was a dying field — there’s not much to find these days. Their website hasn’t been updated since 2072; Eddie can’t find Dr. Klok’s name, or even Bill’s. 

Once he sees his patients for the morning, he takes his cell phone into an empty room and closes the door. It’s an ancient thing, manufactured sometime in the 2060s, another physician privilege that Richie covets, though he only keeps it for emergencies anyway. Only Richie, Mike and his boss have his number. He’s not even sure he could give his number to someone should they ask. 

He clumsily dials the number on Dr. Klok’s old battered card, and holds his breath as it rings. 

“Dr. Marsh speaking,” a woman’s voice answers. 

“Uh… I was trying to reach Dr. Klok?” 

There’s a soft chuckle from the other end. “I’m afraid Dr. Klok is unavailable. May I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s _—_ this is Eddie Kaspbrak,” Eddie says in a rush. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak… oh! Of course. We were hoping to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

Eddie hesitates, lips pressed together in a thin line. His heart pounds in his ears. 

“Dr. Kaspbrak?” 

“If I say yes,” Eddie starts, then takes a deep breath. He tries to sound less angry when he starts again. 

“If I say yes… could you do me one favor?” 

Dr. Marsh laughs. “I think we could do you several favors if you say yes.” 

“Give my friend an interview,” Eddie says. “Dr. Richard Tozier. He’s a biochemist, he’s-- he’s very interested in joining NASA.” 

She hesitates. “I’m sure we could give him an interview, however I’m afraid biochemistry isn’t a field in which we have any immediate openings.” 

“He’s smart,” Eddie says. “You— you wouldn’t know it talking to him because he’s not a stuck up asshole, but his IQ is something ridiculous, one sixty-five I think. And he’s interested in physics, but decided to change his major after the first blight for— obvious reasons.” 

“Hmm. That was smart.” 

“You could put him anywhere. He’ll learn anything you throw at him and be teaching new recruits within a month.” 

“You seem very confident.”

“Ask Bill Denbrough if you don’t believe me,” Eddie says. “He knows. We grew up with Richie.” 

Another pause. “I’m afraid Dr. Denbrough is unavailable as well. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure Dr. Tozier gets an interview. Bring him with you tomorrow, seven am sharp.” 

“Wait, I can’t— I have to put in my notice at the hospital, I can’t just--” 

“We’ll take care of speaking to your employer,” Dr. Marsh interrupts. “Right now you’re needed here, Dr. Kaspbrak. See you tomorrow.”

She hangs up. Eddie collapses back on the hospital bed, fingers clenched so tight around the phone his knuckles turn white. 

What the _fuck_ did he just do?


	2. dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more disclaimer: like the movie, NASA is a much smaller organization, however it's not secret the way it is in the film. 
> 
> if you've seen the movie a few times you'll notice a lot of very familiar dialogue in this chapter

He expected Richie to complain when Eddie told him how early he’d have to wake up, but to his surprise Richie simply nodded before tearing off to his room to try and dig up his old interview suit. 

Mike looks him over after Richie leaves. “You okay?” 

“Just wondering what the fuck I’m doing,” Eddie sighs. 

Mike steps closer and wraps his big arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie leans into him and they listen to Richie stomp around upstairs for a moment before he speaks. 

“For what it’s worth… I think you were meant for this, Eddie. Both of you were meant for bigger things than this.” 

Eddie looks up at Mike — stoic, sturdy, safe. “You deserve more too, Mike. You should come with us tomorrow.” 

“No. My place is here, Eddie. I gotta keep everyone alive long enough for you to save them.” 

He grins down at Eddie and squeezes his shoulder. He pulls away and turns back to the table, where he has a tractor engine laid out on the kitchen table. Eddie watches him work for a long time in silence, and Mike lets him. 

“You’re the bravest person I know, Mike,” Eddie says after a while. “Have I ever told you that?” 

Mike smiles, hands stilling. He looks up. “You told me that when we were seven and I jumped into the quarry for the first time. Remember?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a grin. “Remember how scared Richie was when we took him and Bill a few years later?” 

“Yep. Thought he was gonna shit his pants.” 

They laugh at the memory. Richie had called them psychopaths and refused to jump until hours later, when the three of them had already dried off and were ready to go home. 

“And you told me again when I finally fessed up to Bill,” Mike says, smile turning wry. “At his graduation party.” 

“Right,” Eddie says, looking away as guilt curdles in his stomach. 

He still hasn’t told them about Bill. He doesn’t know if it will make what he’s about to do better or worse for them, particularly Mike. He supposes he still has time to decide, provided Richie doesn’t stumble across a picture of him tomorrow.

“Anyway. Right back at you, Eddie,” Mike says earnestly. “You’re braver than all of us combined.” 

“That’s a fucking lie,” Eddie says with a laugh. 

“What’s a fucking lie? You measuring dicks without me?” Richie’s voice says behind him. 

Eddie turns, and a very undignified sound escapes his throat against his will. 

“What? Did I do the tie wrong, it’s easier tying other people’s, I think I did it backwards…” 

Eddie doesn’t hear the rest. He hasn’t seen Richie in this suit since he was twenty-two, when he was decidedly lankier. It’s navy, with black lapels, and Richie’s wearing it with a simple white button up and checkered blue and white tie. Years of working on the farm with Mike means that now he fills out the shoulders, almost to the point that Eddie’s concerned about the strength of the fabric. His hair is messy and his five o’clock shadow might as well be in the full beard category by now, but it doesn’t detract from the look. If anything it just makes Eddie want to yank him in by the stupid backwards tie even more. 

“Looking good, Tozier,” Mike says, whistling. Richie spins, and then Eddie really does choke on his tongue, something he _knows_ is anatomically impossible, and yet it’s the only way to describe what happens when he sees the back of Richie in a suit. “Looks a little tight, but at least now you’re not swimming in the damn thing.”

Eddie looks away, because he knows he’s staring, and he knows sooner or later one of them is bound to notice. He spins away towards the sink and fills himsel a glass of water. 

“Eddie my love, what do you think?” Richie asks. 

Eddie gulps three mouthfuls of water before answering. “Passable. At least they won’t laugh me out of the building for recommending you.” 

“No, that’ll come when he opens his trashmouth,” Mike teases. 

Richie’s jaw drops open in mock offense. “Slander! I don’t have to take this. Fuck you nerds, I’m going back to talk to my bookshelf ghost.” 

He leaves, and Eddie can finally take a full breath. Mike looks around in confusion. 

“Bookshelf ghost?” 

“Don’t ask.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Richie nails the interview. 

Eddie knows he nails it because he’s in the middle of his first flight simulator with Dr. Marsh when Richie bursts in from out of nowhere and screams, “Spaghetti! I made it!” across the room. There’s a lot of nervous laughter, and Eddie waves at him, heart swelling in his chest even as the wave turns into a shooing motion. Someone catches up and escorts Richie away. 

Eddie spends the entire day in the simulator. In a few weeks he’ll have to complete the physical part of his training, but right now they’re more concerned with getting him up to speed on piloting. 

“Everyone knows you can fly,” Dr. Marsh tells him after his first sim fails thanks to Richie. Her bright red hair is pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. She’s beautiful and witty and knows this simulator like the back of her hand, and she’s spent at least four hours in the tiny fake cockpit next to him. “But you need to know how to fly something fifty times bigger than your little duster, and a thousand times more complicated. It takes time.” 

“I thought we didn’t have time,” Eddie says. He consults his handheld manual three times before reaching to turn on the thrusters, only to have Dr. Marsh bat his hand away. 

“Blue. Thrusters are blue, engines are green.” She watches him swear quietly to himself and switch on the thrusters, patient smile on her face. “And trust me. We have enough time for you to get this right.” 

“How long have you been training for this?” he asks. 

“Two years,” she answers easily, nodding when he finds the correct switch for the ventilators. “I’m a biologist, but I took really well to flight training, so they trained me to be a pilot as well. I’ve flown two missions to the moon and back.” 

“In two years?” Eddie asks, pausing to look at her. “What the hell did NASA need with the moon when people here are dying?” 

“It wasn’t really about the moon,” she answers, apparently not offended by Eddie’s tone. “It was more about testing different ships, new fuel preservation techniques, that kind of thing. Things we’ll need for our next mission.” 

“Speaking of—” 

“Nope. Not falling for it Eddie. You’ll be briefed as soon as Brand deems you ready.” 

“Brand?” Eddie repeats. Marsh tilts her head. 

“Yeah… Dr. Brand? Didn’t you meet him?” 

“No, I’ve only met you and Dr. Klok.” 

Her face changes, fast enough that Eddie can’t pin down her expression before she arranges it back into something neutral. 

“Dr. Klok is… well, he’s a genius. He’s one of our best pilots, our brightest minds. He and Dr. Brand spearheaded this mission together. But Dr. Klok is an astronaut, while Dr. Brand is more like… management.” 

“Management.” 

“There’s not really a good term for it in NASA,” Marsh admits. “He’s a physicist, a brilliant one. He does all his work from here. He’s who we answer to.” 

“I haven’t met him.” 

“You will soon,” she assures him. “ _After_ you get this right. From the top, come on.” 

“Ugh. Yes ma’am.” 

She hits his arm, not even hard, but Eddie nearly falls out of the cockpit in his alarm. She’s laughing when he looks at her, holding her stomach. 

“Oh my god, sorry,” she gasps. “Your face, I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re gonna have to work on your startle reflex.” 

“What the f—udge,” Eddie says lamely, and she laughs harder. 

“You can say fuck. And don’t call me ma’am. I’m younger than you, Jesus.” 

He decides she’s his favorite. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Richie starts his training the next day. They drive in together, and Richie can barely contain his excitement, talking so fast that even Eddie, who’s had a lifetime of practice, has trouble keeping up with his various trains of thought. 

“Have you met Beverly Marsh?” Eddie asks when they finally pull up to the gates. Eddie scans his new security badge and it opens, and he rolls the truck through. 

“No. Why, is she hot?” 

“Christ Richie.” 

“So that’s a yes.” 

“She is, but that’s not— she’s just really cool. I think you will get along really well with her, unfortunately for me.” 

“Nice,” Richie says, nodding to himself as Eddie parks. “What’s her speciality?” 

“She’s a biologist. But you probably won’t meet her until your flight training.” 

Richie pales. “Oh, perfect, so the super hot biologist’s first impression of me will be me shitting myself. Fantastic.” 

“You don’t even like women,” Eddie huffs, rolling his eyes. He pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine. 

“Well to quote your mother, maybe I just haven’t met the right one,” Richie says. 

Eddie freezes, scowling hard at Richie over the console. “Fuck you, Richie.” 

He slams the door a little harder than necessary on his way out of the truck. Richie is waiting for him by the bed of the truck, holding the thermos of coffee Eddie forgot out as a pathetic peace offering.

“Hey, sorry, I know, okay. I know. I’m an asshole.” 

Eddie snags the thermos from his hand. “No it’s great. It’s fine, Richie. I love being reminded that my mother was the world’s last homophobe in 2078, that’s a fucking perfect start to my day.” 

The corner of Richie’s mouth twitches. “I highly doubt she was the world’s last homophobe Eds.” 

“Fuck off Richie. I hope you throw up all over Beverly Marsh and I hope she tells everyone.” 

Eddie shoulders past, but Richie catches him and spins him back around.  
  
“Hey. I’m sorry, okay? I mean it, I really am.” 

The sincerity takes him aback. Richie looks genuinely ashamed, so Eddie lets it slide. He knows how Richie feels — _felt,_ about his mother, and her backwards ideas of parenting and sexuality and morality. He knows Richie would never deliberately use the memory of her against him. He shrugs Richie’s hand off his shoulder and jerks his head towards the entrance. 

They part ways inside. Richie gives him a short wave as he’s led away to whatever part of his training he’s meant to be starting today. Eddie meets Beverly at the flight simulator and straps in for another eight hours of fake plane crashes. 

* * *

Weeks pass like hours. By the end of the second, Eddie feels moderately confident in his ability to pilot without crashing. Beverly tells him he’s doing well, anyway. Richie has spent his first two weeks taking classes on the areas of rocket science he’s lacking in. Eddie’s not even annoyed to hear that he’s aceing them; he listens with pride when Richie recounts how easy astrophysics is, really, it’s weird how people don’t just _get_ relativity. 

Eddie takes Richie up with him in the crop duster a few times, just to give him a chance to get his sea legs, so to speak. Richie only pukes once when Eddie decides to try a loop de loop to mimic G-force. 

Mike helps where he can with the massive stacks of flight manuals Eddie brings home to study. He takes to the mechanics of piloting like a duck to water, and Eddie asks again if he’s sure he doesn’t want an interview. Mike only smiles before going back to explaining the propulsion system. 

Sometime during his eighth week, Beverly lets him take one of the real planes out. It’s different to his crop duster, for sure, but it takes minimal guidance for him to get her in the air after all his time in the simulator. Beverly whoops when he takes off, and they spend half the morning in the air. Eddie smiles in the light of the mid-morning sun, feeling more at peace than he has in years. 

Richie is waiting for him when he and Beverly return to the hangar. He can tell by the look on Richie’s face that whatever he has to tell him isn’t good. 

“Hey Rich,” Eddie says, handing his helmet off to Beverly, who’s looking between the two of them with a pinched expression on her face. 

“You okay Tozier?” Beverly asks, putting her free hand on his shoulder tentatively. Richie smiles weakly and inclines his head towards her. 

“Better now that I’ve seen your gorgeous face, Marsh.” 

“You started phys today, right?” she asks quietly. 

Eddie’s heart sinks. Richie darts a look at Eddie before nodding at Beverly shortly. 

“Yeah, uh, Eds? Can you…”

Beverly drops her hand and looks at Eddie. “I’ll give you guys a minute. See you back in sim, Eddie.” 

She leaves, brushing Richie’s cheek gently once before leaving. As Eddie predicted, he and Beverly have become fast friends. The day after they met, she started eating lunch with them everyday rather than alone in her office, the two of them taking turns teasing Eddie and each other relentlessly. 

“Richie? What’s going on?” Eddie asks evenly. 

“I— it’s dumb, okay, and I’m sorry to like, fuck up your training, but it’s just— he’s insisting, and I tried to tell him you were fucking busy but he wouldn’t stop asking—” 

He’s babbling, nearly incoherent in his obvious panic. Eddie takes a step closer and fits his hand against Richie’s neck the way he knows calms him down. 

“Who’s insisting? Slow down Rich, what are you talking about?” 

Richie releases a shaky breath. He looks nearly on the verge of tears; Eddie’s fucking terrified. 

“It’s Dr. Jerkoff.” 

“Dr. Jergins.” 

“Yeah, that asshole. I was in the middle of phys, and I kind of— ugh, don’t freak out, okay?” 

Eddie pulls his hand back and crosses his arms.

“Too fucking late, Richie. Out with it.” 

“Right, okay, well, I kind of… passed out. A little bit.” 

“Passed _out_?” Eddie repeats, and Richie winces. “What do you— how long did you lose consciousness?” 

“Just like a minute, it was _nothing_ , okay? I’m just out of shape.” 

“No you’re not. I’ve seen you lift a hundred pound bag of sod over your head, Rich.” 

“Yeah but that’s different from cardio, and— anyway. The point is, they brought me to medical afterwards, and now Dr. Jergins is insisting on talking to you.” 

“Why? And while we’re at it, why the fuck didn’t they call me the second you passed out?” Eddie asks furiously. 

“You were kind of in a plane at the time Eds. And probably because I sort of told him you’re my primary physician?” Richie says like a question, chagrined. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Richie—” 

“Well you basically are! I haven’t been to any other doctor since the day you started your residency Eds!” 

“God, okay, we’ll get into this later. Why does he want to talk to me?” 

Richie looks away shiftily, and Eddie’s positive his blood pressure is either dangerously high or low with how fucking panicked he is. 

“He said… something about my lungs.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Eddie doesn’t remember the walk to medical. Richie said ‘lungs’ and Eddie moved without thinking, without hearing a word Richie said as he trailed two steps behind him all the way to the medical wing. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t breathe until he finds Dr. Jergins sitting serenely behind his desk in his office. He hears Richie breathing hard behind him when Dr. Jergins looks up and almost chews him out for exerting himself again. 

“Tell me,” Eddie demands as soon as he has his attention. 

Dr. Jergins glances at Richie behind him. “Um, Dr. Tozier I think Dr. Kaspbrak and I should speak alone for a moment.” 

“But—” 

“Richie,” Eddie says shortly. He can’t even look at him. “Please.” 

He hears Richie sigh. “Fine. Not like it’s _my_ body or anything, Christ.” 

He leaves though, somewhere down the hall to Eddie’s left. Eddie steps inside and takes the seat across from his desk while Dr. Jergins closes the door. 

“Dr. Jergins—” Eddie starts as soon as he sits down again. 

Dr. Jergins holds up a hand. “Please, call me Mark. We’re colleagues, Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

“Eddie.” 

“Eddie. Thank you for coming to talk to me.” 

Eddie nods. He can feel the beginnings of a panic attack starting now that the adrenaline of the walk over is fading, and he breathes deeply while Dr. Jergins pulls Richie’s chart from a pile on his desk. 

“Dr. Tozier tells me you’re his primary physician, Eddie?” 

“I— yeah, you could say that,” Eddie concedes. “He hasn’t seen anyone else for medical care since I finished med school.” 

Dr. Jergins inclines his head. “That makes sense. He tells me you two live together?” 

“Yes, along with another friend. Richie and I lived together while we were both in school, we—we moved back to our hometown a few years ago.” 

His leg won’t stop jumping. He tries to stop, but as soon as one leg stops the other starts. He clasps his hands together tightly so Dr. Jergins doesn’t see them trembling. 

“I’m sure he told you about his event today.” 

“Yes, he said he passed out.” 

Dr. Jergins nods and consults his notes. “According to his trainer, he was on lap two of a mile run when it happened. He came around after about a minute and was brought here for examination.” 

Eddie exhales. “Mark, just tell me.” 

He looks at Eddie for a long moment, considering. Sympathetic. Sympathy on another physician’s face terrifies him down to his marrow. 

“His breath pattern was unusual when I listened to his lungs. I ordered an X-ray and… well, you’re the pulmonologist. Here.” 

He pulls the black and white scans from the folder and hands them over. Eddie knows without holding them to the light what he’ll find, barely even has to glance at the images before he knows. 

Red lung. 

“I have an illuminator, if you—” 

“No need.” 

Eddie’s voice is flat, hollow. He traces a finger over Richie’s translucent ribs, sees the shadows clear as anything, same as what he saw everyday at Methodist. 

His limbic system seems to have shut down. His hands don’t even shake anymore as he looks at the radiograph. Somewhere in his mind he knows it’s shock that’s causing this lack of response, the body’s defense mechanism against the nightmare happening in his brain, the only thing keeping him from screaming until he has no voice left. 

“Doctor?” 

Eddie blinks. He’s not sure how long he’s been silently staring at Richie’s lungs, but he’s already memorized which lobes are affected, already charted out a treatment plan. When he looks up he sees that fucking pity in Dr. Jergins’ eyes again. 

“What’s your diagnosis?” 

“Why are you asking me?” Eddie asks, voice still eerily devoid of emotion. “You know the answer.” 

“I’m afraid I need to hear it from you,” Dr. Jergins says gently. “My specialty is neurology. You’re NASA’s resident lung expert now.” 

Eddie should feel some sort of emotional response to that, but his body is still doing everything in its power to keep them locked down. 

“Pneumoconiosis. Caused by excessive dust inhalation. Affecting the right superior and left inferior lobes. Fibrosis appears mild. Shadows are approximately ten and twelve millimeters in diameter. Is that enough? Did you need more? Do you want to know the prognosis, or his chances of qualifying for a transplant—” 

“Eddie.” 

“—because they’re low, Mark. Really low. At his age and overall health he’ll be at the bottom of the barrel, because the greatest minds in our field have decided that he’ll probably live longer than the rest without a transplant. He’s less deserving than the others on the list simply because on _paper_ he’s—”

“ _Eddie._ ”

Eddie stops, breathing hard. He closes his eyes and hands the scans back. Once they’re out of his grip he rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head fall into his hands. 

Dr. Jergins gives him a few minutes to breathe it out. His limbic system must be coming back online, because tears have started to prick at the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away, then uses the heels of his hands to force them away when that doesn’t work. He presses his hands against his eyes so hard he starts seeing explosions of light behind his closed lids. He drops his hands and clasps them together between his knees and speaks to the floor. 

“I told him— I fucking _told_ him, over and _over_ again to wear a mask, goddammit.” 

Dr. Jergins doesn’t chastise him for swearing. “He tells me he spent several years out in the fields for his biochemistry research.” 

“Yes. Cornfields, wheat, when we still had it, okra, all the fucking fields imaginable. And he probably didn’t wear a mask _once_ unless I was hovering over him, the fucking—” 

His voice breaks, and he covers his face with his hands again. He knows he’s being extraordinarily unprofessional, but he doesn’t give a shit. All he care about is Richie, and how he’s going to fucking _throttle_ him. 

“Dr. Kaspbrak. I’m afraid you know what I’m going to say next.” 

Eddie picks his head up. Dr. Jergins has done away with the sympathy and is all business, like he thinks Eddie’s going to fight him on what he says next. 

“NASA cannot accept an astronaut with a condition such as this,” Dr. Jergins continues, gentle but firm. “I wanted to wait until you confirmed his diagnosis before telling him, but if you’d like I can—” 

“No. I should— I should be the one to tell him.”

He has a sudden memory of Richie, age ten, proudly declaring to their fourth grade class that he was going to be an astronaut when he grew up. He and Richie weren’t even friends yet — there’s no reason he should have retained that memory at all. But then he remembers the rockets that Richie would draw, clear as day, the countless construction paper creations that adorned the Tozier’s refrigerator. The endless foil rockets. The Apollo 13 poster that hung in Richie's room until high school. The ecstatic way he recounts his training to Eddie and Mike every night. The way he’d looked at Eddie the last time he took him up in the crop duster, only days ago, and said, “You know, as long as they’ve got a fuckton of Dramamine on board, I think I could do this. I could _fly_.” 

Dr. Jergins stands, and hands Richie’s chart over. “I’ll speak with the appropriate people.” 

“Don’t— just, wait,” Eddie says, holding a hand up. “Maybe he can’t fly but he could still work here, right? He’s a fucking genius, you— NASA can’t just throw him out on the street. They’d be making a huge mistake letting him go.”

Dr. Jergins raises his chin. “I’ll make the appropriate recommendation.” 

Eddie stands on shaky legs and leaves his office. He makes it down the hall and around the corner to a supply closet. The second the door closes behind him he falls back against it, legs giving out beneath him, and sobs. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


He finds Richie in an empty bed in a deserted corner of the med bay. He’s hunched over his knees, looking absurdly small in his khaki training jumpsuit. He doesn’t hear Eddie approach, only looking up when Eddie is right in front of him. 

“So?” Richie asks. 

Eddie looks down at him, at his pale, drawn face; his long fingers clasped together, knuckles white and tendons straining with how rigid he is. He watches his chest move with his breaths, feeling like his own is going to cave in on itself. 

“How long have you been coughing, Richie?” Eddie asks quietly. 

Richie closes his eyes and hangs his head again. “What does it matter, Eds?” 

Eddie grabs his chin and lifts his head back up. “It matters because I _missed_ this, Richie,” he hisses. “I’m a pulmonologist that somehow didn’t hear his best friend hacking up his lungs every fucking night for _weeks_.” 

“Eddie—”

“No, do _not_ lie to me Richie,” Eddie says fiercely, stepping closer. Richie has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. “I know you had to have been coughing for several weeks, at least. What, did you just leave the room every time you had an episode?” 

“Yes,” Richie admits. It startles Eddie enough that he lets go of Richie’s chin. “ _Yes_ , Eds. If you were home, I’d step out back, or cough into a pillow, or out of my window so you wouldn’t hear me. And here, we were always on opposite sides of the compound, so it didn’t matter.” 

Eddie shakes his head miserably. “That night on the porch… was that really the first time?” 

“Yes. I wasn’t lying about that, I just… didn’t tell you it was getting worse.” 

“ _Christ_ , Richie.”

Eddie turns away, towards a window next to Richie’s bed. His hands settle on his hips, head hanging as he thinks back over the last two months. How had he been so blind? He’d noticed Richie stepping away at seemingly random times, slipping away to his room more often than usual — Eddie just assumed he was tired from training and was turning in early. 

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. I was going to tell you, I swear, but I was afraid they’d kick me out, or that you’d chew me out about the masks.” 

“Fucking right I’m going to chew you out,” Eddie says, turning on his heel to face him. “I told you every _fucking_ day to wear a mask in the field Richie, for _years_.” 

“I _know._ I was stupid, I know that, but it really did make my job harder, you know? And no one else I worked with was wearing them, so I thought—”

“Oh, no one else was wearing them, so that obviously means it’s okay! Even though you had a physician telling you otherwise, everyone else knows best, right?” 

Richie opens his mouth, and then out of fucking nowhere, _laughs._

“What the fuck Richie! You think this is funny?” 

Richie just laughs harder, halfheartedly pointing at Eddie. 

“You should— oh dude, you should see yourself right now.” 

Eddie looks down, and realizes his hands are still on his hips. 

“God, you look like— my fucking _dad_ after I crashed his car, Jesus—” 

“Rich, stop, you’re gonna trigger an episode.” 

Richie keeps laughing until Eddie pointedly drops his hands. As predicted, the laughing quickly turns into coughing, harsh and wet; Eddie changes course immediately. He steps closer and puts a bracing hand against Richie’s chest so he can work through it, other hand rubbing circles on his back. 

“Breathe, Rich, come on, slow down, try to breathe.” 

Richie keeps coughing, but after another minute of Eddie’s gentle instruction he manages to get it under control. He leans heavily against Eddie’s hand; Eddie steps closer in the V of Richie’s legs until Richie can lean his full weight against him, head settling against Eddie’s diaphragm. 

“I’m so sorry Eds,” Richie croaks. 

“I know, Richie,” Eddie answers softly. 

He cups the back of Richie’s head with his free hand and lets his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. Richie’s breaths are erratic, and Eddie can tell he’s trying not to cry. 

“Rich, breathe,” Eddie instructs again. 

“‘M breathing,” Richie mumbles thickly. He inhales loudly for show. “Your detergent smells good.” 

“If you need to cry, then cry, okay? It’ll be worse if you hold it in.” 

“I’m okay,” Richie says, lifting his head slightly to look at Eddie. His chin presses against Eddie’s sternum. “I already cried earlier. Like, a lot.” 

“Me too,” Eddie admits quietly, hand carding gently through Richie’s curls. 

Richie stares at him. Eddie feels his hand before he sees it, softly cupping Eddie’s cheek, his thumb brushing under Eddie’s swollen eye. 

“I know,” Richie says. 

He lets his hand linger for another long moment before dropping it again, wrapping it around Eddie’s waist instead. Eddie gasps quietly when Richie pulls him closer and tucks his head against his chest again. Eddie can’t help but lean down to press his lips to the crown of Richie’s head, and since he’s already here, he may as well give in, let himself be selfish. He stays that way, nose pressed to the top of Richie’s head, breathing in the scent of Richie’s shampoo.

“They won’t let me fly, will they?” Richie asks softly after a few minutes. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut; Richie reads his answer in his silence. 

“Yeah. I thought so.” 

“I’m so sorry, Richie,” Eddie whispers in his hair. 

Richie takes a deep breath that Eddie tries not to analyze. “I knew it was too good to be true, Eds.” 

“Hey.” 

Eddie shifts back and grabs Richie’s face, holding it between his hands and looking at him with every ounce of sincerity he can muster. 

“You deserve good things, Richie. Just because you can’t fly doesn’t mean you can’t make a difference here.” 

Richie’s eyes soften, but his mouth twists sardonically. “Oh Eddie baby, they’re not gonna keep me around.” 

“What are you talking about? Why the fuck wouldn’t they?” 

Richie sighs. “Look around, Eds. All this fancy ass technology is at least ten years old. NASA is _broke_. They’re not going to waste money onboarding a dude who will probably drop dead in six months.” 

Eddie rears back like he’s been slapped, all the breath ripped from his lungs. “Do _not_ fucking say that to me, Richie. Ever.” 

Richie just looks at him sadly. “Eddie, you worked at that hospital for years. You know better than I do—”

“Shut up,” Eddie snaps. “Shut the fuck up. I’m— I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix you. I know people who can get you to the top of the transplant list, you’re _not_ going to—” 

He can’t finish the thought. Richie reaches out and tugs him back in; Eddie collapses half on his lap, half on the bed, legs thrown over Richie’s thighs. Richie wraps an arm around his shoulder, and for the second time that day, Eddie cries until he can’t breathe. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


That night, after they break the news to Mike, Eddie follows Richie to his room. He makes a quick detour into his own room to grab his medical bag, and then he gets to work performing his own exam. 

Richie’s lungs rattle with every inhale, but his heart is strong, and it doesn’t sound as though there’s been any fluid accumulation. His blood pressure and pulse are normal, temperature a perfect 98.6. He listens to Richie’s lungs again, and again, telling Richie to breathe all sorts of ways until he has a complete picture. 

“Jeez, doc, you this thorough with all your patients?” Richie teases when Eddie approaches with the stethoscope for the third time. 

“Of course I am,” Eddie answers, lifting Richie’s t-shirt again. He only blushes a little this time when he sees the broad expanse of Richie’s naked back. “Now take a deep breath, you know the drill.” 

After he’s satisfied with the physical exam, he settles next to Richie and studies his X-rays again by the light of Richie’s bedside lamp. He stares at them for so long he sees the outline of Richie’s ribs when he blinks. Richie falls asleep after an hour, curled towards Eddie in his sleep. Eddie carefully removes his glasses and lays down to watch him breathe. He listens for the rattle for a long time, eventually lulled to sleep when it doesn’t come. 

He dreams of dust, and of Richie. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next morning, Eddie wakes in Richie’s bed. He’s on top of the comforter, Richie’s heavy warm arm is thrown across Eddie’s chest, and for ten beautiful seconds, Eddie forgets about the day before. 

Until he sees Richie’s crumpled X-rays strewn across the floor. 

He’s debating the merits of hiding under Richie’s blanket for the rest of his life when Richie shifts next to him, blinking awake slowly. He grins sleepily when he sees Eddie. He doesn’t remove his arm. 

“Well well well,” Richie says, voice thick with sleep. “Looks like I _finally_ managed to get the last living Kaspbrak in my bed.” 

“Beep beep dick,” Eddie replies. He rolls on his side, and Richie shifts his grip to Eddie’s waist but still doesn’t remove his arm. His cheeks burn, and he hopes it’s blurry enough without his glasses that Richie can’t tell. “It’s way too early for ‘your mom’ jokes.” 

“Never,” Richie says around an enormous yawn. He blinks blearily at Eddie when he’s done. “You sleep okay?” 

“Yeah. Only one nightmare, so I count that a good night, considering.” 

Richie frowns. “What was the nightmare?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You remember that dust storm you, me and Mike got caught in last summer? Fourth of July?” 

Richie nods and shifts closer, shifting his hand further, hand sliding further up his waist subconsciously. “Ah yes, a favorite among Eddie Kaspbrak’s tortured subconscious.” 

“Yeah, well it was that again. Only this time, we lost you in the cloud,” Eddie says quietly. Richie’s grin disappears. “We looked for you for hours and couldn’t find you, and Mike had to drag me back home.” 

“Eds…” 

Eddie shakes his head and looks around, searching for anything to focus on besides the look on Richie’s face. His eyes land on the bookshelf. 

“You ever decipher your ghost’s message?” Eddie asks before Richie can push the subject. 

Richie quickly schools his expression from quietly concerned to neutral when Eddie looks back at him. “Yeah. Sucked without Internet, but Mike had an old Morse decoding book hidden in there, fucking nerd.” 

“And?” Eddie prompts. 

“It said ‘stay’.” 

The word inexplicably sends a chill down Eddie’s spine. He shivers; Richie pouts his lip and he flips the edge of the comforter over so it covers Eddie. 

“You sure?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says with a nod. “S. T. A. Y. I checked three times.” 

“And has it… have any other books fallen off?” 

“No. Not yet. Had a weird ass thing happen with some dust the other day, though— “

Eddie’s cell phone rings and interrupts him; he digs it out of his pocket, and briefly wonders how it even survived him sleeping on it all night. He doesn’t recognize the number. 

“Hello?” 

“Are you coming in today?” 

It’s Beverly. Richie recognizes her voice and raises his eyebrows questioningly, pushing up onto his elbow. 

“I don’t know, Bev.” 

“Eddie, listen,” Beverly continues as though Eddie didn’t speak. Her voice is shaky. “I heard what’s going on with Richie. I-- I’m so sorry.” 

Eddie sighs, closing his eyes. “Thanks, Bev.” 

“How’s he doing?” 

Eddie opens his eyes. Richie shrugs as best he can, face twisting in a ‘what can you do?’ kind of expression, and Eddie snorts. 

“As well as can be expected.” 

“That’s good,” she says kindly. “Look, I know you two need some time, I swear I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.” 

“That’s okay, Bev, what’s up?” 

“They want to meet with you. Both of you.” 

“They?” 

“Dr. Brand.” 

Eddie swallows; he still hasn’t met the infamous Dr. Brand, nor has Richie. “Uh, okay, we— we can be there in an hour?” 

“I’ll tell them. See you soon.” 

Richie is staring at him when he hangs up. 

“Fuck.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


They’re met at the entrance and escorted to a part of the compound that Eddie’s never seen in his two months here. He follows two men through what seems like an endless hallway of doors, Richie an anxious twitchy presence at his shoulder, until they stop outside a large shiny double door. Richie bumps into his back when they stop.

“We’re here, sir,” one of the men says to his wrist. Richie grins down at Eddie despite the nerves, no doubt remembering the countless hours they used to spend playing ‘spies and assassins’ as kids. 

Eddie hears a voice crackle through the man's earpiece, and then they’re escorted inside. 

They’re led into a large room, the entire back wall of which is taken up with bookshelves, similar to Richie’s room at home. An oval conference table takes up the majority of the room, and seated in the center are two men and one woman Eddie doesn’t recognize. They stand when Eddie and Richie approach the table. The man in the center, an older man with wiry white hair, extends his hand. 

“Dr. Kaspbrak, Dr. Tozier. My name is Dr. Brand, though most people call me Professor Brand. Old habit, I suppose, from my days at Harvard. It’s a pleasure, truly.” 

“So you’re the wizard behind the curtain,” Richie says brusquely before Eddie can reply.

Eddie elbows him sharply, but Dr. Brand laughs. “Yes, I suppose I am. Allow me to introduce my colleagues — Dr. Patricia Blum and Dr. Stanley Uris, our two most esteemed physicists.” 

He indicates the two on either side of him, who also extend their hands. Dr. Uris has dark curly hair and a serious face, while Dr. Blum seems to have a permanent and genuine smile on her face. Her dark hair is cut short and wild with curls, much like Dr. Uris’, and she’s wearing a bright yellow dress under her lab coat. 

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says once they’ve all shaken hands. 

“Likewise,” Patricia says with a bright grin. Stanley only nods. 

“Please, let’s sit,” Dr. Brand says, gesturing for Richie and Eddie to sit across from them. Richie plops down, casual as ever, while Eddie perches stiffly on the soft leather. He hasn’t sat in a leather chair since the first blight. 

“Now, I’ll cut right to the chase and tell you that I know what happened yesterday with Dr. Tozier. Dr. Jergins filled me in last night,” Dr. Brand begins. 

Eddie stiffens even more. Richie nods languidly next to him. 

“Didn’t peg you for a guy that people get much past, professor.” 

Dr. Uris smiles; Richie notices. Eddie despises the absurd jolt of jealousy he feels considering the circumstances. 

“Indeed not,” Dr. Brand says with a short laugh. “That being said, I am truly sorry to hear the news.” 

Richie’s face tightens almost imperceptibly. “Thanks.” 

Dr. Brand turns his attention to Eddie. “Dr. Kaspbrak, based on the close nature of your relationship with Dr. Tozier and your expertise, I imagine you performed your own examination?” 

“I did,” Eddie confirms rigidly. 

“And you agree with Dr. Jergins’ diagnosis?”

Eddie glances around at Dr. Uris and Dr. Blum, and finally Richie, who simply shrugs. 

“Well, it was my diagnosis, technically.” 

Richie lets out a short bark of a laugh; Eddie shoots him a look and he covers his mouth prudently.

“Quite right, of course,” Dr. Brand says. “Dr. Tozier, do you mind if we talk frankly about your condition for a moment? I can ask Drs. Uris and Blum to step out for a moment.” 

Richie shrugs again. “No need. Sounds like all of NASA already knows anyway. Knock yourself out.” 

Dr. Brand inclines his head and turns his attention back to Eddie. “Dr. Kaspbrak, based on Dr. Tozier’s diagnosis and your expertise, would space travel be safe for Dr. Tozier in his current condition?” 

_Oh, fuck you,_ Eddie thinks. Based on the way Dr. Uris is grinning and Dr. Blum is averting her eyes, he knows it shows all over his face. He’s never been good at keeping his emotions off his face. 

Richie is already looking at him when Eddie glances over. Richie looks at him for a long moment before nodding. 

“No. I would not clear him for any sort of air travel in his current condition,” Eddie says through gritted teeth. 

“That is unfortunate. Dr. Tozier, it is my understanding you joined us at the same time as Dr. Kaspbrak?” 

“That’s right.” 

Dr. Brand smiles. “I’m told your interview was something of a spectacle. An enjoyable one, no doubt, seeing as you are sitting here today.” 

Richie laughs. “Yeah that’s a word for it I guess.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to beat around the bush,” Eddie interrupts. Dr. Brand and Dr. Uris both turn their attention back to him in a snap. “Are you firing Richie or are you not?” 

Richie goes still next to him; Eddie doesn’t dare glance over.

“I am not,” Dr. Brand answers after an excruciating silence. 

“What? Seriously?” Richie asks. 

“Let me be clear,” Dr. Brand continues. “I am not firing Dr. Tozier from NASA, however, I am removing him from the astronaut training program, effective immediately.” 

He looks at Richie in the silence that follows. “I am sorry, Dr. Tozier. I know how much you were looking forward to a flight mission, and after seeing your impressive work I confess I had every intention of asking you to join this expedition along with Dr. Kaspbrak. But we cannot endanger it in any way, nor can we risk your health.” 

“Right, yeah… makes—makes sense,” Richie says, voice small. Eddie nudges his knee with his own under the table; Richie returns the pressure. 

“However, you are without a doubt an extremely intelligent individual, and I cannot in good conscience let a brain like yours go to waste. I hear you particularly excelled in particle physics. That, in addition to the knowledge you bring from your background in biochemistry, would be extremely useful to our mission. In other words... the job is yours, if you want it.” 

“Hell yeah I want it,” Richie answers unequivocally. He grins widely at Eddie; Eddie rolls his eyes but smiles back, privately so relieved he could cry. 

Dr. Brand grins, broad and genuine, as does Dr. Blum. “Wonderful. A bright spot in a dark week, no doubt.” 

Dr. Brand lowers his gaze to the table briefly. His dark eyes stare straight through Eddie when he looks up again. 

“Dr. Kaspbrak, that brings us to you.”

“Me?” 

“Yes. I’m afraid we cannot continue discussing the mission until I have your word that you will help pilot this craft.” 

Eddie balks. He feels Richie straighten next to him. “What craft? All due respect, but _I_ can’t agree to a mission I know nothing about. All I know is some vague, fatalistic bullshit — sorry — that I heard from Dr. Klok over two years ago.” 

“No, I suppose you can’t.” Dr. Brand looks around at Dr. Uris and Dr. Blum, then nods to himself as though he’s come to a decision. “Take a walk with me.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The four of them traipse behind Dr. Brand, following him through the endless hallway of doors again. Dr. Brand turns right instead of left at the end of it and leads them outside towards a massive looking greenhouse a hundred yards away. Eddie can make out at least twenty people in whitecoats inside. 

“Blight,” Dr. Brand says simply once they’re inside, gesturing to a stalk of infected corn behind a glass plated wall. 

Eddie stops to examine it, and Dr. Brand stops with him. Dr. Uris and Dr. Blum continue ahead with Richie towards a display of blighted wheat, talking in low voices. 

“Wheat, six years ago. Okra, this year. Now there’s only corn,” Dr. Brand continues ominously. 

Eddie thinks of Mike, and all the progress he’s made on his own and on all their neighboring farms over the last two years. “We’ll find a way. We always have,” Eddie says. 

“Driven by the unshakeable faith that Earth is _ours._ ” 

Eddie considers him. “Not _just_ ours, but it’s our home.” 

Dr. Brand moves on to the wheat; Eddie follows, nonplussed. A scientist in a hazmat suit examines the stalks behind the glass, making notes on a clipboard. A nozzle in the corner of the room secretes a tinted gas, and she continues to make notes while Dr. Brand speaks. 

“Earth’s atmosphere is eighty percent nitrogen. As you know, we don’t breathe nitrogen, Dr. Kaspbrak. But blight does.” 

He gestures to the nozzle. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but Eddie can almost see the plant wilt before his eyes. 

“As blight thrives, our air contains less and less oxygen. And without fields of living plant matter, more and more dust storms will begin to overtake our homes. As a pulmonologist, I know I don’t have to explain to you what that means.” 

Dr. Brand’s eyes cut over to Richie for a brief moment before landing back on Eddie. 

“Your generation will be the last to survive on Earth. The last to starve will be the first to suffocate.” 

Eddie’s stomach drops. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying, we are out of _time_ , Dr. Kaspbrak. It’s time for us to save the world.” 

He inclines his head towards the exit. Eddie looks over at Richie, hunched over a blighted tomato plant and engrossed in conversation. 

“We’ll rejoin Dr. Tozier soon. Come with me. Please.” 

Eddie follows. Brand leads him to another building Eddie’s never seen (seriously, how fucking _big_ is this place?). They step through a metal door and into a large circular chamber. An enormous rocket, so tall that Eddie can barely see the top, takes up the entirety of the chamber. The launchpad it sits on is full of bustling engineers. 

“In order for us to save the world, we need to leave it,” Dr. Brand says as Eddie gapes. 

“Is this a Ranger?” 

Dr. Brand nods with a small smile. “The very same as the kind your father flew, with a few updates, naturally. It is the final component of one of our versatile ships in orbit: the Endurance. Our final expedition.” 

Eddie turns, pulling his gaze away from the technological wonder in front of him. 

“What do you mean ‘the final component’? What about the others?” 

Dr. Brand grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “The Lazarus missions.” 

“Lazarus?” Eddie repeats. “Lazarus died.” 

“And he rose from the dead.” 

“But he still died,” Eddie argues. “Did you send people into space to die?” 

Dr. Brand surveys him for a long moment. “We sent them to find our new home.” 

“A colony,” Eddie says, following when Dr. Brand starts to lead him elsewhere. “Dr. Klok mentioned a colony.” 

“A colony is Plan B. Plan A involves something far more complex in order to save all the souls left on this earth.” 

“But there isn’t a planet in our solar system that can support life,” Eddie argues, barely watching where he’s going as he speaks. He bumps into three people, unable to keep up with the thoughts racing through his mind. “Richie told me it would take thousands of years to reach the nearest star large enough to serve as our new sun, I— _where_ did you send them, Dr. Brand?” 

They’ve returned to the conference room; Richie and the others are nowhere to be found. Eddie spots a chalkboard he didn’t notice before, almost completely obscured by complex equations. 

Dr. Brand sighs. “Dr. Kaspbrak… I really can’t tell you any more until you agree to pilot this mission. I know your tenure with us has been short, but Dr. Marsh’s evaluations are strong. She thinks you’re ready. And your father was one of the best pilots we’ve ever had. If you’re even half as good a pilot as he, then you’re our best hope.” 

“Dr. Brand, I’ve— yesterday was the first time I’ve flown anything more complicated than a crop duster. I’ve never even left the stratosphere.” 

“This crew has never left the _simulator_ , Dr. Kaspbrak. Dr. Marsh excluded.” 

“Then what do you need me for? She’s just as good a pilot as me— no, actually, she’s far better.” 

“Dr. Marsh will have other responsibilities once on board, and regardless, it takes two to pilot the Endurance,” Dr. Brand explains. “And while the rest of the crew are theoretically capable of successfully piloting a craft this large, I would sleep far better knowing I had two excellent pilots with real, practical piloting skills. I cannot put it all on her shoulders, capable though they may be.” 

Eddie crosses his arms, shaking his head at the floor. “I have to say, hearing everything you just told me, and after everything that happened yesterday... I’m pretty fucking overwhelmed right now, professor. I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. That is completely understandable. I think I would rather feel the same in your situation.” 

Eddie sits, and Dr. Brand follows suit, sitting primly in the chair next to him. They swivel around to face each other; Dr. Brand is quiet while Eddie thinks. 

“Allow me to address some of your concerns, if I may.” 

“Jesus, please.” 

“Dr. Marsh knows this craft better than her own home, I would imagine. She will be with you every step of the way. You’ll complete your training in the air, learn by _doing_. She will be right there with you, backing you up, answering any question you might have. I imagine your medical training was similar.” 

Eddie nods but says nothing for a long time. 

“How long would I be gone?” he asks finally, dreading the answer. 

Dr. Brand pauses before answering, watching Eddie steadily. 

“A few years… a decade. It’s hard to know.” 

Eddie stands abruptly, horrified, hovering over Dr. Brand. “A _decade_ ? You’re asking me to give up a _decade_ or more of my life?” 

“Dr. Kaspbrak,” Dr. Brand starts calmly, matching Eddie’s hysteria with composure. “I know how dearly you care for Richard Tozier, and for your friend Mr. Hanlon.” 

“How do you know about Mike?” 

“It’s our job to know about our recruits, Dr. Kaspbrak. They’re your family.” 

“They are,” Eddie agrees fiercely. “They are my family. And I can’t abandon them for _ten_ fucking years, or—or longer. Especially not with Richie—” 

He cuts himself off, pacing away from Dr. Brand over towards the chalkboard. He stares blankly at it for a long moment before he faces him again. 

“I can’t leave him. I _can’t_.” 

Dr. Brand takes a deep breath, still seated. 

“Edward. I understand your hesitance, I truly do.” 

“This isn’t _hesitance._ This is… this is me saying ‘thanks, but no fucking way’.” 

“Edward,” Dr. Brand repeats, pointedly using his first name. “You know better than I do that you can’t save him.” 

“You—” 

Eddie steps backward and collides with the black board, no doubt getting chalk dust all over his shirt. He feels like he’s been punched, lightheaded, like he can’t take a proper breath. 

“Listen to me closely. You can’t save him, but I can.” 

Eddie gapes at him. “How?” he asks weakly. 

“Through the regular channels, he’ll never survive long enough to receive a transplant,” Dr. Brand explains calmly while Eddie’s heart quietly rips in two. “Even with your connections, it will have to be through the proper avenues. But we employ some of the best doctors in the country, and our connections are far more influential than yours, as I’m sure you can imagine. I can get him to the top of the list, no questions asked.”

“But— he—” 

“He will receive the best care, from the very best surgeon I can find. He will have a new set of lungs by Christmas. I promise you this.” 

Dr. Brand stands, slowly makes his way to Eddie until he can put a hand on his shoulder and look him in the eye.

“I can save him today. You can save him tomorrow.” 

And really, it’s no choice at all. 

He lifts his chin, holds Brand’s gaze as he says, “Tell me where we're going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aren't patty and stan the sexiest physicists you've ever seen


	3. s.t.a.y.

They wait for Dr. Uris to join them. Eddie stares at his reflection in the shiny table, having the world’s quietest panic attack and wondering how the fuck he’s going to justify this to Richie. 

Mike will understand. He’ll give Eddie that soul searching look of his, and he’ll know that this is something he has to do. He already knows Eddie would die before he let anything happen to Richie, to either of them, and he’ll let him go. 

Somewhere deep down, he knows he should be more motivated by the greater good, that he should be willing to risk his life for more than just one person. And maybe, once he knows Richie is safe and has better accepted his own fate, maybe then he‘ll feel that fire that they all seem to have. But right now, the desire to save humanity feels too big a concept to grasp. All he lets himself think about is saving Richie; if he lets himself go too far down any other road, he’s scared he’ll back out. 

Dr. Uris comes in at some point, interrupting his reverie. Dr. Brand meets him at the door, and they speak in hushed voices for a minute or two before joining Eddie at the table. That should probably bother him, but he has little room for anything but Richie in his brain. 

“I hear you’re going to be our captain,” Dr. Uris deadpans when he sits opposite him at the table. 

Eddie scoffs. “If anyone’s captain, it’s Marsh. Not me.” 

Dr. Brand interrupts. “It’s not any of you. None of you will outrank the others. You will each be bringing your own expertise to the mission and will need to rely on the counsel of each other in your decisions.” 

“It was just a joke, professor,” Dr. Uris explains with a wry grin. “Just trying to break the ice.” 

Impatiently, Eddie says, “Ice broken. Tell me where the fuck we’re going, Dr. Uris.” 

Dr. Uris smiles. “Call me Stan. We’re gonna be on the Endurance together for a long time, and if you call me Dr. Uris the whole time I will have to throw myself out of the nearest airlock.”

Eddie grins weakly; he likes him immensely. At least there will be two people on board he likes. 

“You can call me Eddie, then.” 

“Alright, Eddie. What do you know about gravity?” 

Eddie drums his fingers on the table, glancing briefly at Dr. Brand before back to Stan. “Uh. The usual, I guess. Things that go up must come down, apple falling on Newton's head, that kind of thing.” 

Stan glances at Brand before he continues. “Guess that’s a good enough starting point.”

He leans back in his chair, casually folding his hands over his stomach. “About fifty years ago, NASA started detecting gravitational anomalies. Mostly small distortions to our instruments in the upper atmosphere — Richie mentioned the two of you actually encountered one yourself.”

“We did?” 

“The bookshelf,” Stan explains. “Richie’s theory is that it was gravity.” 

“Well… obviously it was gravity,” Eddie says with a laugh. 

Stan shakes his head. “You misunderstand. He must not have told you.” 

“Told me what?”

“He’s noticed other anomalies. Dust, floating in the air on its own as though it was falling from the ceiling in perfectly spaced lines. He did some rough experimenting with coins and determined it was a gravitational anomaly.”

“I— when did he do this?” 

Stan looks vaguely uncomfortable for the first time. “He also mentioned he’d been hiding his illness from you… perhaps he discovered it while he was avoiding you?” 

Eddie shifts awkwardly. In fairness, Richie had tried to tell him about it this morning before Beverly called. “Yeah, okay, so… what does this have to do with the mission?” 

“Everything,” Dr. Brand says gravely. 

Stan elaborates, “A few years ago, we noticed the biggest anomaly yet.” 

Stan produces a clicker from his shirt pocket, and with a few pushes of a button, the lights dim and a projector whirs to life next to them. It projects an image of Saturn and its moons on the wall behind Stan. Stan leans over and points out a collection of stars that look distorted, rippling through space like water. 

“A disturbance of spacetime out near Saturn.” 

“What, like… a black hole?” Eddie guesses. 

“Close. A wormhole. We can see it clearly today with recent advances in technology, but after scouring the archives, we think it actually appeared around forty-eight years ago.”

“Appeared… appeared how?” 

Stan and Dr. Brand exchange a look. “Well that’s the question. Wormholes are not a naturally occurring phenomenon.” 

“Then how did it get there?”

“Our best guess,” Dr. Brand answers, “is that someone put it there.” 

Eddie looks between them, disbelief etched plainly on his face. “Someone… put it there.” 

Dr. Brand nods. “And whoever ‘they’ are… they appear to be looking out for us. That wormhole allows us to travel to other stars, other solar systems. It came along right as we needed it.” 

Stan continues, “They’ve put potentially habitable worlds within our reach. Twelve, actually, based on our initial probes.” 

Eddie decides to table the ‘they’ of that sentence for now. “You’ve sent probes into it?” 

Dr. Brand smiles. “We’ve sent _people_ into it. Nearly three years ago, now.” 

“The Lazarus missions,” Eddie guesses.

Dr. Brand stands, and Eddie follows — he leads Eddie to the southeast wall, full of memorials Eddie hadn’t noticed before. 

“Twelve possible worlds. Twelve Ranger launches, carrying the bravest humans to ever live, led by the remarkable Dr. Klok.” 

He indicates the memorial in the middle; Eddie recognizes the oddly cold face, the cutting blue eyes. 

“Dr. Klok… he’s part of the Lazarus mission?” 

“Yes. He left shortly after you met with him several years ago. Along with someone else I think you might recognize.” 

Dr. Brand gestures to the picture on the far left, and Eddie’s heart bottoms out. 

“Bill,” he breathes, stepping closer and reaching out to touch the frame. 

Bill looks the same as the last time Eddie saw him. Same determined set to his jaw, same bright blue eyes — the only difference is the age lines, the flecks of gray in his hair. 

“Yes. Dr. Denbrough is one of NASA’s brightest minds and bravest souls. He was one of the first to volunteer for this mission.” 

“What _was_ their mission?” Eddie asks softly, eyes still locked on Bill’s face. 

Stan is the one who answers. “Each person’s landing pod has enough life support for two years — but they can use hibernation to stretch that, making observations on organics on their planet. Their mission is to assess their world, and if it shows promise, send a signal, bed down for the long nap, and wait to be rescued.” 

Eddie’s heart is lodged in his throat when he asks, “And if their world didn’t show promise?”

Stan doesn’t answer for a moment, nor does Dr. Brand. Eddie finally looks away from Bill over to Stan, whose face is stony when he speaks. 

“Hence the bravery.” 

“God,” Eddie gasps, clutching at his chest. “Is he—?” 

“Dr. Denbrough has been sending promising signals, Dr. Kaspbrak,” Dr. Brand assures him. The vice around his throat eases. 

“So he’s just… just out there, thousands of light years away. Alone. Just _hoping_ someone will rescue him?” Eddie demands, voice breaking. 

“He volunteered for this, Dr. Kaspbrak,” Dr. Brand reminds him. “Now to be perfectly frank with you, we simply don’t have the resources to visit all twelve systems. Data transmission back through the wormhole is rudimentary, simple binary ’pings’ on a bi-annual basis to give some clue as to which worlds have potential. One system shows promise, and Dr. Denbrough is one amidst that system, along with Dr. Klok and Dr. Benjamin Hansom.” 

He gestures to another photo; Eddie’s mind is too wired to give it much thought. 

“ _One_ system? That’s a long shot,” Eddie says. 

“One system with _three_ potential worlds,” Stan corrects. “That’s not a long shot.”

“So… so if one of their worlds is viable, then what?” 

“ _That_ is the long shot,” Dr. Brand says. “Did you notice anything strange about the launch chamber?” 

“Just that it was fucking massive.”  
  
Stan and Brand both laugh. “Let’s take another look.” 

He follows them through the long hallway back to the launch chamber, feeling numb from sensory overload. This time he looks more closely, and notices there are structures built sideways around the curved walls. 

“This facility… it’s a space station?” Eddie guesses. Stan smiles. 

“Indeed,” Brand says. “We’ve been working on it, and others like it for twenty years. Plan A.”

Eddie studies it; it’s vastness is hard to grasp. He can’t see the top, can only make out about twenty-five percent of it at once. 

“How the hell do you get it off the ground?” Eddie asks, eyeing the massive engines and thrusters. They’re larger than his house, and yet they still don’t seem big enough to launch something of this magnitude. 

Dr. Brand grins. “Those first gravitational anomalies we mentioned, they changed everything — suddenly we knew that harnessing gravity was _real_. So I started working on the theory, and we started building this station.”

“Started?” Eddie repeats. “You haven’t solved it yet?” 

Brand looks somewhat grim for the first time. “That’s why there’s Plan B.” 

He turns, and Eddie has no choice but to follow him and Stan to another building. They step inside, and Eddie feels marginally more at home. It’s a laboratory, complete with more complex technology than Eddie’s ever seen, ten years old or not. Technicians flutter around them without sparing a glance for their three visitors. 

“The problem... is gravity,” Dr. Brand explains.

He leads them into a large steel and glass apparatus. He puts on a pair of gloves and pulls out a cylinder of large vials. “How to get a viable amount of human life off the planet. This is one way — Plan B. A population bomb. Almost five thousand fertilized eggs, weighing in at under 900 kilos.” 

“How would you raise them?” 

“With equipment on board we incubate the first ten. After that, with surrogacy, the growth becomes exponential. Within thirty years, we could have a colony of hundreds. Of course, the real difficulty of colonization is genetic diversity.” Dr. Brand slides the cylinder back into place and taps the top. “This takes care of that. And it is also why Dr. Marsh is so important to the mission, aside from her piloting skills. She’s a biologist, and will be primarily responsible for the embryos should Plan B go into effect. As a physician, you would also play a large role in ensuring their survival, Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

Eddie releases a shaky breath, tries to calm his racing heart as he takes everything in. 

“So you’d just give up on the people here?” he asks darkly, thinking of Richie and Mike. 

“That’s why Plan A is a lot more fun,” Dr. Brand says with a wink. Eddie has an impulsive urge to hit him. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dr. Brand decides to give Eddie some time. He escorts him back to the conference room, then leaves with Stan to let him catch his breath. 

Eddie can hardly fathom the position he’s gotten himself into. The position he’s in because his dad used to fly for NASA, because of Richie. Because Eddie is a dumbass who loves him enough to agree to a suicide mission to save him, without hesitation. 

He focuses on Richie again, thinks of his face as he breathes slowly. He can give Richie a future. Dr. Brand was right — he knows the demand for lung transplants. He knows how they prioritize patients. Richie is too young and too healthy, he’ll sit at the bottom of the list for years because there are others less fortunate than he who need them more urgently. And even if Eddie somehow got him bumped to the top, it’ll still take too long. Healthy lungs are hard to come by; even if everyone on earth was a donor, only about one in thirty people have viable lungs to donate these days. 

He believes Brand when he says he’ll get him a donor by Christmas. Not out of naivete, but because Eddie will _know_ if he doesn’t hold up his end, and then there will be nothing stopping him from hijacking a Ranger and coming home early. 

It’s a light form of blackmail, he decides. Holding Richie’s future over his head is just as unscrupulous as telling him about Bill, giving him hope for his rescue. Brand has him trapped with his both of his fucking hands tied and he knows it, the overly cordial motherfucker. 

He has no choice. It’s no choice at all, to sacrifice himself for Richie. To give him a future, a new home. 

He thinks of Richie ten years ago, young and fiercely energetic, furious at how the world was falling apart around them, at how they were being lied to in order to ‘keep the peace’. He remembers going with Richie to rallies and protests, how Richie and Mike would scream until they were hoarse, demanding larger government rations, demanding the truth, screaming and risking their own safety for the good of others. For the hope that those he was fighting for could survive and have better lives. And even when the government all but dissolved and people were left to their own devices, Richie was always helping others, always volunteering hours at their neighbors farms when they were too sick to work, always bringing extra food to local food banks. 

Eddie can do this for him. He can do it for both of them. Eddie can give them and those they fought for the better life they deserve. And he can bring Bill home.

Dr. Brand comes in, knocking softly before he enters. Eddie sits up straight and looks at him coolly when he sits down. 

“Dr. Tozier is still with Dr. Blum,” he tells Eddie. “She’s a quantum physicist, you know. He’s absolutely _enamored_ , asking questions faster than she can answer them.” 

“I told you he was smart,” Eddie says proudly. 

Dr. Brand inclines his head with a soft smile. “Indeed you did.” 

Eddie looks to his left at the massive chalkboard, eyes honing in on the smudged area where he’d collapsed against it earlier. 

“How far have you gotten?” Eddie asks, looking over the incomprehensible equations. Richie would probably understand it. 

“Almost there.” 

“Almost? You’re asking me to risk everything on ‘almost’?” 

Dr. Brand shifts closer. “I’m asking you to trust me.” 

Eddie snorts. “No offense, professor, but I don’t really trust many people. Least of all those who would hang the wellbeing of my best friend— no, _two_ of my best friends, over me to get what they want.” 

Dr. Brand blinks, nods sagely. “Fair enough. You don’t have to trust me. But this is my life’s work, Dr. Kaspbrak. Trust that I have been working on this problem for over a decade, and I’m not going to abandon it. I’m not going to abandon this mission. Nor will I break my promise in regards to Dr. Tozier.” 

He leans forward, and Eddie holds his gaze, jaw clenched tight. 

“Find us a new home. When you return, I will have solved the problem of gravity. You have my word.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Richie is waiting for him outside. He’s leaning against the passenger door of Mike‘s truck, flipping idly through a small paperback book he must’ve borrowed from Patricia or Stan. 

In another world, where the oxygen itself hadn’t already betrayed him, Eddie could imagine him smoking one of those cigarettes they see sometimes in old movies. Eddie would lecture him on the dangers, no doubt. He’d threaten to flush them down the toilet, stamping them out as soon as Richie could light up. Richie would laugh good naturedly and say, “We all gotta go sometime, Spaghetti!” and ruffle his hair. Eddie would yell some more about carcinogens until Richie put it out and reeled Eddie to him, tucked him safe under his arm.

In this world, Richie looks up when Eddie approaches, lips curling into the soft smile that’s just for him, and Eddie has to decide how he’s going to break his heart. 

“There you are. Started to worry they’d dragged you off to perform experiments on you,” Richie says, marking his place and closing the book. Eddie makes out the word ‘astrophysics’ before Richie tucks it into his jacket pocket. 

“I was with Brand,” Eddie says, coming to a halt in front of Richie. 

They’re the only ones in the parking lot. Most of the staff have gone home already. There’s a few safety lights turned on nearby, the only source of light around. Most nights are cloudy these days. The moon and stars are almost always obscured by dust clouds in the atmosphere, trapped until gravity can pull it back down to the surface. 

“Oh yeah?” Richie asks, a note of hesitancy in his voice. “He convince you to join his ragtag team of space heroes?”

When they were eleven, Eddie took a hard fall off his bike into a bunch of broken up rocks near the quarry. He wasn’t hurt too bad, but when he showed up back home bloody and bruised, his mother tried to drag him to the emergency room until his father was able to calm her down. She was much more tolerable back then, before his father died. She and Frank patched him up with what amounted to nearly fifty bandaids. Richie had laughed his head off the next day at school and told him he looked like ‘the shittiest mummy in Egypt‘. Eddie hid out on the playground at lunch, and had painstakingly and painfully peeled off around ten of them before Richie stomped over and ripped one clean off his forearm. Eddie flipped his lid until Richie said, ‘didn’t hurt as bad that time, did it Spaghetti?’

Eddie needs to rip the bandaid. Only this time, it’s going to hurt no matter what. 

“He did,” Eddie says quietly, watching Richie's face carefully for a reaction. 

Richie nods, ducking his head so that Eddie can only see how his black curls splay over his forehead. He seems quietly resigned, which breaks Eddie’s heart even more than if he’d been blindsided. 

“I figured,” Richie says to his shoes. “It’s the right thing to do, Eds, and you’re the bravest little shit I know.” 

“That’s not true,” Eddie says. 

Richie meets his eyes; the safety light reflects off his glasses. He can’t see his eyes, can’t read him the way he usually can.

“Yes it is. I’ve been telling you that your whole life.” 

“It’s not the right thing,” Eddie clarifies. “Leaving you is _not_ the right thing to do, Richie.” 

Richie shrugs. “Would you feel that way if my lungs weren’t crapping out on me?”

“Yes,” Eddie says fiercely, stepping closer. He can see Richie’s eyes now; they shimmer in the fluorescent light. “How can you even ask me that? I didn’t decide this fucking lightly.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Richie says, pushing his glasses up to his forehead with the heel of his hands, pressing against his eyes when they’re out of the way. He drops his hands after a second and tucks them in his pockets. “I’m just— fuck. I’m so proud of you, Eddie. And I’m gonna miss the fuck out of you.” 

It’s the way he says it that tips Eddie off. The same way he said he’d miss Eddie when he did a six month rotation in Dallas in med school, the casual ‘see you later’ of it all. 

Eddie’s just about to ask the question when Richie beats him to it. 

“How long will you be gone?”

 _Fuck, he doesn’t know_. He’d assumed Patricia, or Stanley might have told him. 

Eddie swallows, the world narrowing around him until there’s nothing but Richie, waiting for him at the end of the tunnel with tears in his eyes. The love of Eddie’s life, a life that’s all but coming to an end in a matter of hours. 

“Eds?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie manages, so quietly Richie has to dip his head down to hear him. 

“You don’t know,” Richie repeats, disbelief heavy on his tongue. 

“A few… a few years,” Eddie says, forcing himself to keep looking at Richie. If he looks away now he’s worried he’ll lose him for good. 

“Years? _Plural_?” Richie says, mouth gaping. “Eds, no, that’s too—“

“Maybe decades,” Eddie interrupts before he loses his nerve, voice smaller than it's ever been in his life. 

His eyes slip shut; he can’t look at Richie right now. Warm tears slide down his cheeks, and he holds his breath. 

“Decades,” Richie repeats hollowly. 

Eddie opens his eyes and inhales sharply; he's never seen such unadulterated devastation on Richie’s face. Not when his dog Minkus died when he was twelve, not when his parents passed, not even when Bill left. Never in the twenty years he’s known him has Eddie seen him look like this. 

It nearly breaks him.

“Eddie, you— please tell me this is some sick joke,” Richie says raggedly. Eddie’s throat is too thick to respond. Richie’s voice gets higher as he talks, more panicked. “Decades? You’ll be gone for _decades_? How the fuck am I supposed to— how could you agree to this?” 

“I had to,” Eddie says thickly, voice breaking. He wants to curl into a ball on the dirty ground, to run away into the woods until the dust suffocates him or he’s eaten by wolves, to pull Richie against his chest and never let go. “It’s not like— I’m not leaving _forever_ , Richie, I’m coming back.”

“No,” Richie argues, fury overtaking the devastation in his voice. “Patty told me where you’re going, Eds. I expected a few months. A few years is one thing — it would hurt like a bitch but it’s understandable, but _decades_? If you think you’re coming back from that, someone fucking lied to you.”

“Hey,” Eddie snaps, matching his anger. It’s far easier this way, far easier to deal with Richie being angry at him than to see him look at Eddie like that. “I know exactly what I’m getting myself into, Rich. I wouldn’t have agreed if this didn’t include a return trip.”

“And _I’m_ saying, these vultures were so horny to get you to fly their stupid ship that they’d say whatever it takes to get you on board.”

“So now they’re vultures,” Eddie says. “A few hours ago they were your heroes.”

“Yeah, well, that was before they were trying to take you away from me, dickwad,” Richie seethes. 

Machinery screams to life nearby; distantly, Eddie remembers Brand telling him they were planning on running tests tonight before launch. For a moment all he can hear is the whir of the rotors and his own jagged breathing. 

Richie rubs at his eyes again when Eddie is silent. “Eds, I— I can’t do this right now. I need to think, or fucking— figure out how to chain you to the radiator or something. Let’s just— let’s go home, okay?” 

He turns to unlock the truck.

“I leave tomorrow,” Eddie says. Flat, robotic. Ripping the bandaid. 

Richie freezes with his door on the handle. He’s grateful — he doesn’t think his will will hold if he sees Richie’s face right now. 

“Tomorrow…”

Eddie barely hears him over the deafening hum of machinery. 

“Yes,” Eddie confirms. “I have to— I have to tell Mike, and pack a few things, but we launch in the morning.”

“Why the fucking rush?” Richie asks, still not looking at him. “If I hadn’t collapsed yesterday, would they have put me on that ship with you tomorrow? Better question, why didn’t they load you up the second you walked through their gates? What were they waiting for?”

“I don’t— I don’t know Richie. And it doesn’t matter. We’re out of time.” 

Richie’s voice breaks when he chokes out, “Jesus, we— I can't do this Eddie. Take me home.”

He wrenches open the door and climbs into the passenger side, slamming it closed behind him. Eddie stares for a long time; he can just make out Richie hunching in on himself with his head in his hands.

The brain has a pretty little way of making unbearable conditions survivable. The body produces an excess of adrenaline. The brain becomes foggy, and people often feel as though they are outside of their own body. The brain disassociates from reality to allow time to process. 

For the second time in as many days, Eddie goes numb. Reality slips through his fingers, and the disconnect is staggering— it’s not really _Eddie_ that’s going to space in the morning. It’s not _Eddie_ that’s abandoning everything he knows to chase ghosts in another universe. 

It’s not Eddie that’s vomiting in the parking lot. 

It’s not Eddie that quietly wipes his mouth on his sleeve and slips in the truck. It’s not Eddie whose hands shake when he turns the key in the ignition. 

It’s not Eddie that’s leaving Richie behind. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Richie doesn’t speak the entire drive home. 

Eddie’s worried if he opens his mouth he’ll throw up again, so he maintains the silence, hardly daring to even glance at Richie the entire drive. 

When Eddie pulls the truck in, Richie opens the door before he’s even put it in park and bolts inside. Eddie catches the tail end of a coughing fit as he slams the front door, and the last shred of Eddie’s resolve crumbles. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel and cries so hard he hyperventilates. 

Eddie finds Mike waiting for him at the head of the kitchen table when Eddie collects himself enough to go inside.

“Richie won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Mike says in lieu of a greeting. “He screamed ‘ask Eddie!’ when I tried to ask.” 

“God,” Eddie says, collapsing into the chair next to Mike. 

His head falls into his hands; Mike reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, and Eddie almost shrugs him off. He doesn’t deserve Mike’s kindness. 

“Tell me, Eddie.” 

So he does. 

He tells Mike everything, discretion be damned, including Brand’s promise to save Richie’s life. Mike listens patiently to it all. His face doesn’t change much as he listens, but he’s Eddie’s oldest friend; Eddie can see the grief in his eyes all the same. 

“There’s something else,” Eddie says after he’s talked himself hoarse, hesitant. 

“How could there be more,” Mike wonders quietly with a wry sort of smile. 

“I almost didn’t tell you, Mike,” Eddie says. Mike sits up straighter, picking up on Eddie’s tone. “I went back and forth so many fucking times. But I can’t— I can’t keep this from you.” 

“What is it, Eddie?” 

Eddie takes a deep breath. He can’t look at Mike as he says it. “Bill… Bill was part of the Lazarus missions. He’s on one of the viable planets in the system we’re heading to. We’re — _I’m_ going to find him, Mike.” 

Eddie startles when Mike stands suddenly, the scraping of the chair against the wood deafening in the silence. When he looks up, Mike has his hands resting against the kitchen counter, head bent low between his shoulders. 

“He… is he…” Mike tries to ask, voice wavering for the first time. 

“He’s alive,” Eddie says. “He’s sending positive signals about his world. He’s alive, and I’m going to find him Mike. I promise.” 

He hears Mike let out a shuddery breath, shoulders trembling with it. He lifts his head, and then in the next second he’s pulled Eddie out of his chair and wrapped him in a tight hug. 

“You’re incredible, Eddie,” Mike says in his ear. Eddie closes his eyes and tightens his arms around Mike’s waist. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.” 

“I’m coming back,” Eddie promises him, voice muffled in Mike’s shirt. He smells like detergent and grass and _Mike_ , one of the most comforting combinations of scents in Eddie’s life. He almost asks if he can take one of Mike’s shirts with him. 

“I know you are.” 

“I’m bringing Bill with me.” 

“I know you will.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, Eddie. Always.” 

Mike releases him. They both wipe at their eyes, sniffling. 

“It’s going to take a long time for Richie to accept this,” Mike says. 

Dread presses on his chest again. “I know.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

He doesn’t know what Mike is asking. He doesn’t know if he’s asking about the transplant, or about Bill, or about Eddie being in love with him, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what he needs to do. 

“Not yet.” 

Mike nods. “Give him some time. Go pack. I’ll try and talk to him.” 

Eddie presses his lips together to keep himself together. He truly doesn’t know how he’s going to go without seeing Mike’s face everyday, feels so achingly empty every time he thinks about it. He reaches out and pulls Mike in for another bone crushing hug. 

“Promise you’ll send me messages,” he murmurs in Mike's shoulder. ”They— they said they’ll be able to transmit video messages even when we’re— we’re—” 

“I promise. As long as you do the same.” 

Eddie nods into his shoulder. “I will. Everyday.” 

He lets Mike go. Mike runs a hand through his hair and then jerks his head towards the stairs, eyes shiny with tears. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


He doesn’t sleep. 

The hours drain away anyway, minutes passing like seconds. 

He packs and re-packs his bag ten times before realizing NASA won’t even let him take half of what he’s putting in his duffel. He chooses a few outfits to wear on the rare occasion he won’t need to be suited up, and folds them carefully in his bag. NASA will take care of his essentials, like toothbrushes and medication. 

He packs his old yearbook from their senior year of high school, the one where Richie took up two whole pages with his signature, writing all sorts of mushy nonsense despite the fact that they went to the same school the very next year for undergrad. He also packs the book Bill gave him for his last birthday before he left, an old copy of the transcribed _Star Wars_ films from the 1980s and early 2000s. Bill managed to get his hands on an ancient copy of the first movie once, and Mike spent a week getting one of his grandmother’s old TVs to play it. They treasured that movie for years, rewatching it over and over until the old TV crapped out beyond even Mike’s expertise. They relied on transcripts of the other films after that to fill in the blanks; Eddie’s read it so many times it’s spine is cracked. 

He packs Richie’s old jacket, the one he gave Eddie over ten years ago — a worn leather thing that Richie outgrew during his second growth spurt. Eddie’s worn it every winter since, and while he knows he’ll have no use for it where he’s going, he tucks it carefully away between his t-shirts all the same.

He’s checking his drawers for anything he might have missed when he finds the watch. A simple black face, faded white numbers and gold hands, worn dark brown leather band. It belonged to his father. He’s never worn it — it never felt right, never felt like it really belonged to him. He’s kept it all these years, letting it quietly collect dust in his drawer. Miraculously, it’s still working, running on one of those super batteries invented sometime in the 2050s. He compares the time with his own watch and adjusts the crown until they match and tucks it into his pocket.   
  


Too soon, the sun rises, illuminating the thin layer of dust on his bedroom floor. There was a time, not that long ago, when the sight would have triggered a panic attack, and Richie or Mike would have to talk him off the ledge. 

Now, sits on the edge of his bed and swings the tip of his shoe through it, idly tracing his and Richie’s initials into the dust, a single tear sliding down his cheek. 

He’s come this far. He can do this. 

Softly, he pads his way down the hall to Richie’s room. He takes a deep breath, wipes at his wet cheek, and knocks gently. 

“Rich?” he calls, knocking again. “You awake?” 

He tries the handle; it’s locked. 

“Richie, come on. Please?”

He hears rustling on the other side of the door, Richie’s quiet footsteps. There’s not much about Richie that Eddie would consider quiet; it’s disarming. 

He hears the lock click. Richie doesn’t open the door for him though, he can hear him walking back to the other side of the room through the door. 

Eddie gently pushes it open. Richie is on his bed, his back to Eddie, head cradled in his hands. He reaches over and puts his glasses on after a moment but doesn’t look at him. 

“Richie. You have to let me make this right before I go.” 

Richie shrugs. Eddie sees him remove his glasses again, cleaning them with the hem of his shirt as Eddie steps into the room. He makes his way to Richie’s bed and sits on the other side of it. Richie’s back is still to him, but at least Eddie can reach out and touch him. 

He does, touching Richie’s back tentatively, hand between his shoulder blades. Richie stiffens but doesn’t shrug him off. 

“So talk,” Richie says gruffly, sniffing loudly. 

“Richie, I can’t leave without telling you the truth.”  
  
“What do you mean?” 

Eddie closes his eyes tight. Richie still won’t turn around. His hand fists in Richie’s white t-shirt. 

“Brand can save you, Richie. He’s going to get you a transplant, and soon. I couldn’t— I can’t do that for you if I stay, though I’d tear down the entire fucking hospital trying.” 

Richie lets out a sound, somewhere between a sob and a scoff, and turns at last. His eyes are red rimmed and swollen, and fresh tears line his lashes. He doesn’t look like he slept a wink last night. 

Eddie’s never felt his heart break like this. It splinters in his chest, agonizing down to his marrow. 

“So he’s blackmailing you. Do his bidding, or let me die?” Richie asks. 

“No, Rich, it’s not like that,” Eddie says. Richie shakes his head in disbelief. “ _Listen_ to me, asshole. Even if I _could_ save your life, even—even if I found a pair of lungs tomorrow and did your surgery myself, what good would it do if you’re just going to suffocate in twenty years anyway?” 

“Jesus, Eddie—” 

“It’s the truth, Richie. You know it is. I can’t— I can’t save you unless I do this.” 

“Who says I want you to?” Richie asks, voice shaking with emotion, swinging his legs up to look at Eddie properly. “Who cares if I live another six months, or six years, or six _decades_ — don’t you get it? I don’t _give_ a fuck if I have to live them without you, Eds!”

“Richie, please—” 

“No. You’re making this decision because of me, I get a fucking vote, okay? And I vote you stay—” Richie’s voice cracks. “Stay with me.” 

Eddie shakes his head, tears falling freely. Richie wipes them away, thumbs brushing over Eddie’s cheeks softly. “Please, Eds.” 

“I can’t, Richie. I couldn’t live with myself if I— if you— goddammit.” 

He sniffs, pulling his face out of Richie’s grip. “I have to go, Richie.” 

Richie’s face crumples, and then his body follows suit — Eddie just barely manages to catch him when he pitches towards Eddie. He wraps his arms around his chest and lowers Richie’s head to his lap, dipping his head down to press his nose into Richie’s hair. 

“Listen to me, Rich,” he says softly, lips near his temple, Richie shaking in his arms with silent tears. “I’m going to send you messages everyday, okay? And you can send me some too, as many as you want. I don’t expect you to stop annoying me, even from another universe.” 

Richie doesn’t respond, shoulders still shaking uncontrollably in Eddie’s grip. Eddie reaches a hand into his pocket and pulls his dad’s watch around where Richie can see it. 

“I— I want you to keep this safe for me, Richie,” Eddie says. “It was my dad’s. It’s set for the exact same time as mine, okay?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Richie says miserably, voice thick with tears. “R-relativity. Time doesn’t move the same in space.” 

“I know that, dumbass,” Eddie says, holding him tighter. “But when I come back, we can compare the times. See how this holds up out there. And then — then you’ll have to stop making all your stupid old man jokes. You can finally catch up to me.” 

“I’m only one year younger, asshole, you better— _fuck_ , you better—”

Richie chokes, sob wracking him so hard his knees curl up to his chest. Eddie holds him against his own, presses his lips to Richie’s hair, tries to memorize how he smells, how he feels in his arms. 

“I have something else to tell you before I leave,” Eddie murmurs. “I’m sorry I’ve never said it before.” 

“Eddie—” 

“I love you.” 

Richie inhales sharply — Eddie’s voice breaks when he speaks again. 

“I’ve always loved you, Richie. I’ll love you forever, and I’m coming back. I _promise_.” 

Richie quiets, going still in his arms, and doesn’t respond. It’s probably for the best that Eddie can’t see his face. 

Carefully, Eddie presses one last kiss to Richie’s temple, letting his lips linger for a long moment before extricating him from his arms. His legs are shaky when he stands, vision blurry with tears, and he stumbles twice on his way to the door. 

“Eds, no— wait—”

He blinks, and then Richie is right there, blocking the door. 

“You can’t— you can’t fucking say that and leave, Eddie, what the fuck—”  
  
“Rich, please, let me go,” Eddie begs, eyes squeezed shut. 

“No.”

“Richie, I have to _go_.” 

He reaches around for the door handle but Richie steps to the side and blocks him. He tries again, and this time Richie backs up until the door handle presses into his back. 

“You can’t go,” Richie says, desperation thick in his voice, eyes wild with panic. “Please, Eds, you can’t—” 

“Richie, move.” 

“No. _Stay._ That’s what the message said, remember? S. T. A. Y.” 

“Richie, come on, I can’t— I can’t do this, _move._ ”

He pulls at Richie’s arms, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall. Richie doesn’t budge; he holds Eddie in place by the waist. 

“Eddie, don’t, _please_.” 

“Richie—” 

“Please, Eds, I—” 

Eddie cups Richie’s face in his hands and pulls him down into a bruising kiss. It’s hard, and desperate, and wet with tears. Richie tastes like salt and whiskey. Eddie’s fingers press hard into Richie’s skin, desperate to leave a mark, to make Richie remember him. 

Richie freezes, stunned, hands on Eddie’s waist going limp. Eddie twists around until he can reach the door handle. 

“I love you,” Eddie breathes against his mouth, pulling back to get one last look at his face. 

He turns the handle and leaves. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


He heads straight downstairs without looking back, picking up his bag on the way. Mike meets him on the porch and pulls him in for one last hug. 

“Look out for him. Make sure he gets the surgery,” Eddie whispers in Mike’s neck. 

“I will. Look out for yourself out there, Eddie.” 

“I will. I love you, Mike. Be safe.” 

Mike pulls back, eyes watery, and presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead. “I’ll see you, Eddie.” 

Eddie nods, looking up at his best friend and feeling like he’s going to split apart. He bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. “Bye, Mikey.” 

He turns away and throws his bag in the truck, climbing in in one smooth motion. 

He can’t look back. 

He waves to Mike, puts the truck in reverse, and then he’s leaving, peeling out so fast dust kicks up in a flurry all around the truck. 

He doesn’t look back. 

He doesn’t see Richie burst through the front door. He doesn’t hear him scream his name, or see Mike catch him around the middle and hold him back. 

The road blurs, and he blinks away the tears and drives. 

He doesn’t look back. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way i sobbed when i watched this part of the movie yall....pls don't snipe me
> 
> also this is NOT the last you will see of my perfect angel mike hanlon, i promise 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/edskaspbraking), [tumblr](https://hyruling.tumblr.com/)


	4. day one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting some POV switches this chapter! it's also a tiny bit of a filler chapter so i'm sorry in advance for that. 
> 
> cw for suicidal ideation in this chapter - it's not heavy but it is both thought about and discussed a bit. also richie is very stubborn and annoying about how stubborn he is so cw for that too? and myra makes an appearance this chapter but she is not currently nor has ever been with eddie, just to be clear. 
> 
> guess what, it's stupid hard to write about the intricacies of launching a spaceship, so please forgive me if i kind of gloss over some of that - we all know we're here for the romance anyway. 
> 
> guess what ELSE. this fic has a playlist. it's a wip and will be added to as i write, but [here is what we have so far](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4M7NmaD0HYuWgXw5ZN2pzj?si=tYXvzsz-SDqQrI51lfY23A)

**_part 2_ **

**_2078  
_ ** **_Earth_ **

“Kaspbrak, fifteen minutes.” 

Eddie thinks he nods in response. People bustle around him, engineers and mechanics and scientists, all working hard to ensure the Ranger actually gets off the ground. He’s frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the massive space station; from Richie’s future, and Mike’s, and as many souls as it can hold.

“I’m gonna suit up. I suggest you do the same,” Stan continues somewhere to his left. 

Stan claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and offers a tentative smile when Eddie tears his gaze away long enough to glance at him. He looks confident, slight crease between his eyes the only visible sign of strain on his face. 

“Do you have any family, Stan?” 

Stan’s smile doesn’t fade, but it turns sad. “None living.” 

“What about the others?” 

“No. Bev’s parents died when she was young, Patty’s a few years ago, and they were both only children. So was I. Dr. Brand insisted — no attachments.” 

Eddie laughs hollowly. “That’s ironic. I think he’s counting on my attachments to keep me up there _._ ”

Stan watches him closely for a moment, then looks down and shakes his head.

“Come on. We need to suit up.” 

Stan leads him, weaving around people until they reach the small tarmac leading to the cockpit. Eddie follows, legs made of lead. 

He and Stan suit up — Bev and Patty (as she’s insisted Eddie call her) are already suited and in their seats. He’s worn the gear many times before, but today the weight of it is suffocating, pressing heavy on his shoulders. He fiddles with the NASA symbol embroidered on his chest, the exact same as the one that adorned all his dad’s old suits.

When they finish, Dr. Brand ducks into the cockpit for a final farewell. Bev and Patty stand to gather around him; Bev’s hand closes around Eddie’s wrist, and he welcomes the grounding pressure. 

“Everything looks good for your trajectory,” he says to them all. “We’re thinking two years to Saturn.” 

Eddie’s stomach drops. He knew the plan, of course, he knew what this would cost, but it doesn’t make it any easier to confront. He clenches his jaw, thinking about what two years could mean for Richie and Mike. Two years before they can even begin to try and save them. Bev’s fingers tighten around his wrist. 

“We’ll be waiting for you.” 

Bev and Patty give Dr. Brand one last hug, whispering goodbyes in his ear; Stan shakes his hand, murmurs something Eddie can’t make out. 

Eddie approaches Dr. Brand once Stan takes his seat. 

“He needs daily oxygen treatment until his surgery,” he begins without preamble. Dr. Brand only nods, taking it in stride. “Ideally he should be on oxygen 24/7, if there are tanks to spare. Don’t use any of your surgeons here, refer him to Dr. Myra Doyle at Methodist. She’s the best pulmonologist they have, I’ve already talked to her about his case. He also needs a flu and pneumonia vaccine, he absolutely _cannot_ risk catching either — they’re hard to come by, but I know you can make it happen.” 

“I can,” Brand promises without missing a beat. 

“And I want a full video report from Myra on his surgery,” Eddie says. “Both pre and post op, as well as copies of his progress notes from his follow up visits. Even if I won’t— won’t see them for two years, I want them to be waiting for me.” 

“Dr. Kaspbrak, I promise you full transparency,” Brand says, stepping closer and laying a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I will send you as many updates as possible on his condition. I imagine he will be giving you his own reports as well.” 

“Doubt that,” Eddie says under his breath, swallowing around the hard lump. 

Brand notices. “I gather he didn’t take your departure well?” 

“It’s complicated,” Eddie answers evasively. Brand’s shrewd eyes watch him closely. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Brand says softly. 

“Launch in three, Kaspbrak,” Bev calls from the front. 

Brand extends his hand. “Safe travels, Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

Eddie shakes his hand. “Bring Mike’s truck back too, will you?” 

“I shall. This very morning if you like.” 

“Thank you,” Eddie says, dropping his hand. 

Brand looks them over again, mouth set in a grim sort of smile before making his exit. Eddie watches him leave before he turns and takes his place on Bev’s left. 

“You ready?” Bev asks the three of them. 

“Not at all,” Patty answers chippily; Stan snorts next to her. 

“TARS?” Bev says.

Eddie frowns, trying to remember what the fuck TARS refers to in their flight plan, and startles when a large rectangular robot unfolds between them. The screen on its front lights up with commands that scroll so quickly Eddie can’t begin to follow them. 

“Countdown begins in two and a half minutes, Dr. Marsh,” TARS says in a cool robotic voice, eerily human. 

Eddie watches as the robot activates ther launch sequence, and scoffs. “Ex-Marine AI? Really?” Eddie asks Bev over TARS. 

“It was what the government could spare,” Bev says with a shrug. 

“And we are a go for countdown,” TARS says. “All astronauts are present and accounted for. Plenty of human slaves for my robot colony.” 

Eddie snorts; it’s the stupid kind of joke Richie would make, and it nearly makes him lose his last shred of resolve. His chest aches when he imagines the stupid expectant face Richie would make after a joke like that, waiting for Eddie to crack a grin. 

“He has a humor setting,” Patty explains behind him. “They thought it would make him fit in with his unit better. He thinks it relaxes us.” 

“A giant sarcastic robot,” Stan says drily. 

“I have a cue light I can turn on when I’m joking if you like,” TARS offers. 

“That would probably help,” Eddie says. 

“You can use it to find your way back to the ship when I blow you out of the airlock.” 

A beat, then a small light appears on TARS’ screen. Eddie glances at Bev, who’s grinning and adjusting her helmet. 

“What’s your humor setting TARS?” Eddie asks. 

“That would be one-hundred percent.” 

Far too similar to Richie. 

“You don’t tell ‘your mom’ jokes, do you?”

“Not sure, but I can ask when I see her tonight.” 

Bev chuckles, as do Stan and Patty in his ear. 

“Right. Let’s bring it down to seventy-five.” 

“Seventy-five percent confirmed,” TARS confirms glumly.

“Alright TARS, we’re ready for ignition,” Bev instructs. 

Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat. He checks and double checks and triple checks his seat belt and his suit, senses the others doing the same. 

“Main engine start.” 

The engines roar to life below them. Eddie’s seat vibrates, and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply, and thinks of Richie’s face. 

He realizes with a jolt he doesn’t have a picture of him. 

Absurdly he panics, nearly asks TARS to shut off the engines, because he can’t leave without one, he can’t forget their faces — 

“And we are a go for takeoff in ten—” 

What if he forgets what Mike looks like?

“Nine—” 

What if he forgets what Richie’s voice sounds like? The color of his eyes? Which one squints when he smiles? 

“Eight—” 

What if he never hears Richie’s laugh again? 

“Seven, six, five—”

“Breathe with me, Kaspbrak,” Bev says calmly in his ear. He doesn’t dare look over, eyes closed tightly, stitching together Richie’s features in his memory. 

“Four, three, two, and — launch.” 

* * *

Mike hears the truck before he sees it. 

The diesel engine practically screams down the road in the quiet hours of the morning. Mike looks down; he’s been looking up since dawn, watching for Eddie, praying to anyone that might be listening for a safe take off and waiting for Richie to join him. 

He never does. 

There’s another car following behind the truck, a nondescript sedan that he doesn’t recognize. They both come to a stop in front of the house, and Mike steps off the porch to meet them. 

The screen door bangs open behind him before their visitors step out of his truck. 

“Is it him?” Richie asks. He coughs, overexerted in his rush downstairs. The circles under his eyes are so dark they look bruised. 

“I don’t think so, Rich,” Mike says quietly, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

He watches as the hopeful desperation on Richie’s face hardens, and it breaks his heart all over again. The door to the truck slams shut, and Mike turns his attention back to their visitors. Richie seems to recognize them based on the way he stiffens next to Mike. 

“Hello, Dr. Tozier,” an older man greets, smiling politely. 

The driver hangs back while the older man approaches, carrying a briefcase under his arm that Richie eyes warily. 

“You can call me Richie. I don’t work for you anymore,” Richie says scathingly. 

The man stops, clearly taken aback. “You don’t?”

“No. Are you kidding? How the fuck could I after what you did?” Richie snaps. 

“Rich,” Mike says under his breath. Richie briefly glances sideways at him but continues his tirade. 

“You lied to get Eddie to fly your fucking ship,” Richie seethes, voice dangerously low. He steps closer, shrugging off the hand Mike lays on his shoulder. “You manipulated him, all for a promise you can’t fucking keep, and now we’ll never see him again. _Fuck_ you. Don’t ever show your fucking face here again.” 

Richie’s voice breaks, and Mike takes a few steps towards him. Richie keeps his furious gaze fixed on the man. 

“If I may,” the man says calmly, holding up a hand. “It was not a lie. I have every intention of following through on my promise to Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

Richie scoffs, and the man takes another daring step closer. 

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I truly apologize for not being transparent enough about the amount of time he’d be gone. It was not my intention to manipulate anyone.” 

“Bullshit,” Richie says darkly. 

“I understand if you’re not able to trust me,” the man continues without missing a beat. “But I have already made contact with several people in regards to your surgery. I can only follow through on my promise if you remain under our employ, however.” 

“I don’t _want_ it,” Richie snaps. Mike catches his elbow when he takes an aggressive step forward. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want anything from you.” 

“Dr. Tozier, please, let’s just—“

“Fuck. Off.” 

Richie turns on his heel and storms inside before either of them can stop him. Mike watches the door shake on it’s old hinges. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that,” the man says. “You must be Michael Hanlon.” 

“Mike,” he corrects. He doesn’t offer his hand. 

“I’m Dr. Brand, it’s a pleasure. I am sorry for the circumstances of our meeting.” 

“Me too,” Mike says coolly. 

Dr. Brand eyes him for a long, measured moment. “Dr. Kaspbrak tells me you’re quite the engineer.” 

“Eddie exaggerates. I’m a farmer.” 

Dr. Brand eyes him, shrewd and considering. “How long have you known Dr. Kaspbrak?” 

“Since we were four,” Mike answers. He swallows around the lump in his throat and straightens his shoulders. “He’s one of the most important people in my life. So’s he.” He jerks his head in the direction of the house. 

“I understand.” 

“Not sure you do,” Mike says severely. “You see, I just lost my best friend today. My other best friend is so broken up about it I’m not sure he’ll ever be the same. I’m worried I’ll lose him to a broken heart before his lungs get the chance, and I think he’s right. You used Richie to get Eddie in that pilot’s seat.” 

Dr. Brand’s expression doesn’t change. He watches Mike for a long time before adjusting the briefcase in his arms. 

“From your perspective, I cannot blame you for that way of thinking. And I am terribly sorry for the pain you’re both feeling at Dr. Kaspbrak’s departure,” Brand says. 

Mike doesn’t move, nor acknowledge Brand’s half assed apology. Surprisingly, Brand doesn’t try to press the subject any further. “Dr. Kaspbrak asked me to return your truck, and to bring you this.” 

He steps closer and hands Mike the briefcase; Mike takes it cautiously. 

“It’s recording equipment. A bit dated, but reliable. You can record messages and we’ll get them to him. We will also send you any and all transmissions he sends, of course. Did you automate those tractors?” 

Mike looks up to where Brand is pointing in the distance. One of his tractors bumps along idly, Dr. Brand watching it’s movement closely. 

“I did,” Mike says, nonplussed. 

“I thought so. The recording equipment should be simple to operate for you.” 

He regards Mike again. “I realize as I say this it’s quite the wrong time for it, but we could certainly use someone with your ingenuity at NASA.” 

“It is the wrong time,” Mike says shortly. 

Dr. Brand nods. “Right. Well. I suppose I should be off.” 

“Can you do it?” 

Dr. Brand looks at him questioningly. Mike scrubs a hand over his face, looking somewhere over Brand’s shoulder. 

“Can you get him the surgery?” 

“Yes,” Dr. Brand confirms without hesitation. 

Mike sighs, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the door. “He won’t want it. Not from you.” 

“I imagine not,” Dr. Brand says gently. “But should he change his mind…” 

“I promised Eddie I’d make him do it.” 

Dr. Brand smiles wryly. “I’ll make certain that everything is ready when he is.” 

“I might not convince him.” 

“You will.”

“You can’t be sure.” 

“I can. Because it’s necessary, Mr. Hanlon.”

Dr. Brand offers another grim smile and turns to leave. Mike almost lets him go.

“Is Bill alive?” 

His heart hammers when Brand pauses, hand on the door to the grey sedan. He can’t see his face, but the man doesn’t balk, or demand to know how Mike knows about Bill. He merely turns to face Mike again, expression smooth and calm. 

“I believe so,” he tells Mike. “There’s no way of knowing for sure, but all our data tells us he is.” 

Mike doesn’t answer. He still can’t trust him, but he can’t help the way his body responds, knees going weak, the need to collapse in relief sweeping and overwhelming. He locks his knees and stands frozen as the car makes a U-turn, kicking up dust in its wake. Mike watches until it’s a speck on the horizon, wipes at his eyes, and gets to work. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Hey guys,” Eddie starts awkwardly, feeling ridiculous as he talks to the black screen, trying to focus on the tiny camera Patty pointed out. 

He hears Bev shuffle around behind him, busy making her final checks before they go into hypersleep. He’s still sweating from the launch, heart still hammering in his throat from the agonizing experience of docking. Stan had done most of the work guiding them into perfect alignment; Bev and Eddie made sure the Ranger was stable and centered as it approached the Endurance. He’s pretty sure no one even breathed until she was locked on. 

Once locked, the four of them had floated through the craft, exploring their new home for the foreseeable future. Eddie had marveled at his surroundings, the unimaginable amount of human engineering and intelligence evident in the bleak white walls of the Endurance. He followed Bev to the control room where TARS handed over control, and they activated the thrusters, falling back to their feet as the Endurance began to spin and gravity returned to them. 

“Oh what the fuck,” Stan grumbled somewhere behind Eddie. 

He’d turned to find Stan bent double, holding his stomach. 

“You okay there Uris?” Bev asked, reaching for his shoulder. Patty giggled in his ear through the comms, busy in another area of the ship activating oxygen and life support so they could remove their helmets. 

“He doesn’t do well with spinning,” Patty confided. 

“I’ll get you some Dramamine,” Bev told him with a smile. 

“Hey Marsh?” Stan groaned. 

“Yeah?” 

“Bring a lot.” 

Stan didn’t get much better when they’d pushed out of orbit, the Endurance reaching upwards of forty thousand kilometers per hour. He thinks Bev told him the exact number at one point, but he was focusing pretty hard on not blacking out at the time and didn’t manage to retain it. He could hear Stan muttering what sounded like Hebrew in his ear and focused on that to keep himself conscious, following Bev’s instructions blindly until they finally pushed out of Earth’s gravity with a jolt that Eddie felt vibrate all the way down to his toes. 

Earth is the size of a beach ball outside the window to Eddie’s left now. He looks at it briefly before glancing back at the camera, seeing his reflection in the screen. He’s dressed in familiar scrubs, hands clenched tight to keep from shaking, face pale and drawn. 

“Uh, we’re about to go into hypersleep,” Eddie tells the camera. “So it’ll be awhile until I can make another one of these.” 

He glances out of the window again, biting nervously at his lip before turning back to the camera. 

“Earth looks amazing from up here,” he says, then immediately feels like an asshole. “I wish you could see it. Both of you, it’s— you can’t see the dust at all.

“I um. I want to say some things to both of you before I go, so if you could, like… I don’t know. Take turns watching this, or something. I’ll start with Mike.” 

His cheeks burn; he hopes the resolution is too low for them to tell.

“Mike, you… I feel like I didn’t really get to tell you how much you mean to me, man,” he says, throat working around the lump. “Or to— thank you, for always being there, and putting up with me for so long. It’s more than anyone deserves. You’re the best person I know, I meant that. I love you.” 

He swallows, and the tears are unavoidable at this point. He wipes at his eyes hastily and takes a deep breath. 

“Richie, I— I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m not sorry for telling you, because I meant every word, but— I’m sorry for doing it the way I did. That wasn’t fair to put that on you before I left, and it was a chicken shit move and I’m sorry. 

“I meant it though. I love you. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I don’t want— I don’t want it to change anything when I come back, I just had to… _fuck_.”

He blindly reaches out and shuts off the recording, covering his face with his other hand. Stupid stupid _stupid,_ what the fuck—

“Eddie. Five minutes,” Bevs gentle voice says behind him. He wonders how much she heard. 

“I’ll be right there,” he says. She nods and wanders away. 

He switches the recorder back on. “Fuck, I hope NASA doesn’t screen these before sending them to you. Sorry. 

“Anyway, uh… I hope you’ll respond. I won’t see it for awhile, but it’d be fucking great to wake up to your voices. I understand if you can’t, if you’re too angry... it’s okay. I get it, take your time.

“I love you. Both of you. So fucking much, I— I already miss you more than I thought I could. Bev misses you too Richie — she hasn’t said so, but I can tell. 

“I’ll see you when I wake up, I hope. Stay safe.”

He signs off. 

* * *

Bev is waiting for him in the habitation chamber. Stan and Patty are already over by their pods, talking quietly. Stan cups Patty’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together; Eddie looks away, feeling like he’s intruding. 

Bev is perched on the edge of Eddie’s pod, an assortment of medical equipment next to her. She’s tapping away at her tablet but looks up and smiles at Eddie when she sees him come in. 

“So, they’re like…?” Eddie asks Bev quietly when he reaches her, nodding at Stan and Patty. 

He sits next to her and she holds up a blood pressure cuff expectantly. 

“You first doc,” she says with a grin. He extends his arm dutifully and she wraps it around his bicep, talking as she inflates it. “And yeah, they are. Newlyweds, in fact.”

Eddie stares at her, but he finds no trace of humor in her face. “Are you serious?” 

“Yep,” Bev says happily, deflating the cuff. “118/76.”

She pulls the cuff of and records the info, then hands him a thermometer. He inserts it in his own ear and continues his questioning. 

“When?” 

“Two days ago,” Bev answers, tapping some buttons on Eddie's pod. He shows her his reading when it beeps: 97.8. She records it and taps another button on the pod. “They wanted to wait until they were on board, to be sure NASA couldn’t keep them from leaving, but since none of us are technically a captain or and ordained minister, they went to the courthouse.”

“What happened to the no attachments rule?” 

Bev shrugs. “That’s why they did it in secret. Brand’s rule mostly refers to attachments on Earth, but they wanted to play it safe anyway. I was maid of honor,” she finishes with a warm smile in their direction. 

Eddie watches Stan help Patty climb into her pod. He starts to stand, looking around for the blood pressure cuff, when Bev grabs his arm. 

“I already got their vitals, they’re good,” Bev says. 

Eddie sits back down. “Does NASA know?”

“I don’t know,” Bev answers. “Officially, no. But I think you’d have to be pretty dense not to realize how they feel about each other. Brand must have known, he’s very close to them both.”

“And he’s okay with it?”

Bev watches the two of them for a long moment. Stan leans in and presses a kiss to Patty’s forehead, whispering something they can’t hear. Patty touches his cheek before letting him close up the pod and activate her hypersleep. Bev’s still watching them when she speaks again. 

“Eddie, you have to understand… the others left nearly three years ago. All of them knew the odds against ever seeing another human being again… but things changed when only one of our twelve worlds was viable. NASA lost essentially all of its funding, and Brand couldn’t afford to be picky anymore. He recruited you, knowing what you’d be leaving behind. And Stan and Patty’s only attachments are only to each other. Neither of them have family outside of the other.”

“And what about you?” Eddie asks. 

Bev smiles sadly, looking down at her lap. “I don’t have any family left.” 

“And no one you’re leaving behind?” 

“No,” she answers. She grabs Eddie's hand to attach a pulse oximeter to his finger. “No one I’m leaving behind.” 

They’re quiet, watching as Stan climbs into his own pod. He salutes them before he lays back, and the door slides closed, tucking him in for the long nap. 

“Bev, did— did Brand know about Bill? Did he know Bill had us?” 

He watches as his heart rate increases on the machine. Bev notices too, places a gentle hand over his. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I only met Bill once or twice before he left, but… I always had a feeling he was hiding something. If they knew, they let it slide.”

Eddie looks away. He breathes deeply until his pulse regulates. Bev gently remove the oximeter and scoot closer. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” she says close to his ear, sincere. 

She leans her head on his shoulder, watching Earth rotate slowly away with him. “You have a lot more to lose in all this than the rest of us, I’m— I‘m sorry.” 

“So you definitely heard me talking to Richie,” he says drily, and she shakes out a little laugh. 

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to intrude.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure I was obvious as hell anyway,” Eddie says. 

He nods at the tablet next to her before she can confirm how pathetically obvious he is. “Tell me about our prospects again.”

She taps a few buttons, shows him a rudimentary image of a star system. 

“First one is here — this is where Bill is,” she says softly, watching for his reaction. Eddie carefully keeps his face neutral. “We don’t know much about his planet, but he’s been sending very positive signals, Eddie.”

“Good. And the others?” Eddie asks tersely. 

Bev nods, taps another button. A slightly larger planet pops on screen. “Dr. Klok. Also sending positive signals, more detailed information than Denbrough.” 

“Tell me about Dr. Klok,” Eddie says. “I only met him once.” 

“He’s… well he’s the best of us,” Bev says, faint note of hesitance in her voice. “He inspired eleven people to follow him on the loneliest journey in human history. Scientists, explorers… you know, that’s what I love. Out there we face great odds… injury, death. But not evil.” 

“You don’t think nature can be evil?” 

Bev shakes her head with a smile. “No. Formidable, frightening but… not evil. I mean, a lion isn’t evil for ripping a gazelle to pieces.” 

“So we’ll be bringing it with us then,” Eddie says grimly. 

Bev shakes her head, still smiling. “This crew represents the best of humanity, Eddie.” 

Eddie huffs a humorless laugh, thinking of Mike, and Richie. “No. We left the best of us behind.” 

He stands, gestures for Bev to extend her arm and wraps the blood pressure cuff around it. “What about our third planet?” 

He pumps the cuff while Bev taps at the screen with her free hand. The biggest planet of the three pops up, and her finger traces lightly over it before she answers. 

“It’s the largest, and the furthest from Gargantua, the black hole that occupies this system,” Bev says. She’s still looking at the tablet. “Dr. Benjamin Hanscom’s planet.” 

“Tell me about him.” 

Bev glances up, then back down. Eddie records her blood pressure and attaches the pulse oximeter. 

“Ben’s a chemist,” she says, somewhat evasive. “And an engineer. He helped tremendously with the building of the space station, we— we owe him a lot.” 

“Nervous?” Eddie asks, indicating her elevated pulse. 

“Yeah,” she admits with a small smile. “Not exactly thrilled at being stuffed in a tiny box full of water for two years.” 

“Want me to help?” 

“That’s okay,” she says. 

Eddie finishes her vitals, all within normal limits. She hands him the tablet and stands. “Don’t stay up, okay? You are literally wasting your breath.” 

She kisses his cheek and walks towards her pod on the deck below. He watches her disappear, and then looks warily down at his own pod. 

“TARS. Let’s go over our trajectory again.” 

TARS comes into view, CASE milling about somewhere in the control room. TARS had activated CASE when they arrived, another bot nearly identical to TARS, but Eddie’s found he prefers TARS’ company better. He refuses to dwell on why. 

“Eight months to Mars, then a counter orbital slingshot around, and another fourteen months to Saturn. Nothing’s changed.”   
  
Bev’s pod slides shut below them; Eddie eyes it before turning back to TARS. 

Voice low, he starts, “Hey, are Marsh and Hanscom—” 

“Why are you whispering? They can’t hear you,” TARS says bluntly. 

Eddie shakes his head, huffing a little. 

“Fuck off Ri— sorry, TARS.” 

“I do have a setting that allows me to swear back at you, you know.” 

“Is it active?” 

“No, but it could be.” 

Eddie considers, and nearly gives into the temptation. 

“Let’s keep it that way for now. Now, Bev and Dr. Hanscom, were they…?” 

“I also have a discretion setting, Eddie.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Of course you do.” 

He climbs into his pod, shivers in the cool water. He lays back, and is just about to have TARS activate hypersleep when he interrupts. 

“Dr. Kaspbrak, NASA is relaying a message to you from Earth. Would you like to watch it before you sleep?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers immediately. He sits up, goosebumps erupting along his arms. 

TARS moves in front of him, and the screen lights up with Mike’s face. 

_“Hey, Eddie,”_ Mike greets him warmly. Eddie’s chest tightens; he misses him so fucking much already. 

_“Dr. Brand brought us some recording equipment to send you messages. I hope I can get this to you before your long sleep._

_“I tried to get Richie to say something, but he’s still… he’s still pretty upset, I’m sorry.”_

Eddie’s hands clench; Mike looks down for a long moment before continuing. 

_“Eddie, I— I don’t know how much Brand has told you, if anything, but Richie sort of… quit. NASA, I mean. I don’t think— I don’t know if he’ll get the surgery,”_ Mike says, and Eddie’s fingernails dig sharply into the skin of his palm. _“I’ve been trying, but he’s still really pissed, and he sort of told Brand to fuck off. Sorry NASA, if you’re listening, but honestly, he deserved it._

_“I know you’re probably furious right now, okay, so just… I’m not gonna give up, okay? I promised you, and I’m not going to let him be this stupid. And I’m sorry to distract you but I knew you would want to know. But I’m on it, alright? I swear._

_“I love you Eddie. We both do. Just look after yourself, and Bill when you find him. I’ll send you updates as often as I can, and I’ll keep working on him. Be safe.”_

Mike waves at the screen and disappears. 

Eddie swings his legs out of the pod immediately, pulse thudding in his ears. His palms are riddled with crescent marks, and it hurts when he leverages himself on the edge of the pod to hop out. 

“Dr. Kaspbrak, you need to lie back—“

“No, fuck that,” Eddie spits at TARS. “ _Fuck_ that, he thinks he’s gonna just refuse this goddamn miracle being handed to him on a silver fucking platter? No, absolutely not.” 

“Dr. Kaspbrak, there is not enough life support to sustain you for the entire journey without hypersleep—“

“Then I’ll skip a few meals, TARS. Are we still in range for live calls with NASA?”

“Yes. But only with NASA.”

“Get Dr. Brand on the line.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


_“—not sorry for telling you, because I meant every word, but— I’m sorry for doing it the way I did. That wasn’t fair to put that on you before I left, and it was a chicken shit move and I’m sorry._

_“I meant it though. I love you. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I don’t want— I don’t want it to change anything when I come back, I just had to… fuck.”_

Eddie disappears; Richie feels it like a knife to the heart.

It only takes a moment for him to reappear, and Richie can’t help but lean forward and drink in every inch of his grainy face, desperate for every second. 

_“Fuck, I hope NASA doesn’t screen these before sending them to you. Sorry.”_

Richie laughs. He can’t help it, despite the anger still simmering under his skin, the heartbreak still splintering his ribs apart one by one. It's pathetic how much he already misses him, how soothed he is by the sound of his voice. 

_“Anyway, uh… I hope you’ll respond. I won’t see it for awhile, but it’d be fucking great to wake up to your voices. I understand if you can’t, if you’re too angry... it’s okay. I get it, take your time._

_“I love you. Both of you. So fucking much, I— I already miss you more than I thought I could. Bev misses you too Richie — she hasn’t said so, but I can tell._

_“I’ll see you when I wake up, I hope. Stay safe.”_

He disappears again. 

And just like that, Richie won’t see him again for two years. Longer, probably, when relatively is factored in. 

“Rich?” 

Mike comes back into the room, having dutifully stepped out when Eddie asked, despite Richie pointing out that Eddie can’t see them so he should just do whatever the fuck he wants. 

“You okay?” 

“Yep,” Richie says, covertly wiping his eyes before Mike makes it back to the couch.

Mike sits next to him. “Did he say anything else?” 

Richie shrugs. “You can watch for yourself, I don’t give a shit. He asked us to send him more messages for him when he wakes up from his beauty sleep.” 

Mike nods. Richie tenses, waiting for what he knows is coming. 

“You want to record one?” 

“No, Mikey, I— I can’t, okay?” 

“Richie—”   
  
“No. He won’t see it anyway.” 

“You don’t know that, Rich.” 

“Yeah, I do.”

He doesn’t give Mike a chance to argue. He stands and leaves the living room, making a break for his bedroom before Mike can coerce him into trying to talk to Eddie’s ghost. 

He’s just. He’s so fucking _pissed_. At Brand, at NASA and the world as a whole, at Eddie for being stupid enough to believe their bullshit. 

_You believed it too,_ his idiot brain reminds him. 

He slams his door shut and paces, stepping around the books he hasn’t bothered to pick up. Eddie’s father's watch is somewhere among them, the face probably shattered from Richie hurling it at the wall. 

He feels a coughing fit coming on and does his best to ignore it, but eventually it takes hold and he has to double over his bed to hold himself together as his body does it’s best to rip him apart. He coughs until he’s hoarse and his throat is raw. He hears Mike's footsteps outside his door and tenses, which doesn’t help the spasms. 

“Richie? You good?”

Richie gets a handle on himself and forces in a deep, rattly breath. Jesus, but he really took breathing for granted. It used to be so fucking _easy_. 

“Peachy,” Richie croaks. 

“Need any water or anything?” 

“I’m fine, _mom_ ,” Richie snaps cruelly. 

He knows he’s being an asshole. He knows Mike will put up with it while he’s hurting, but even Mike's patience has its limits. 

“Okay. I’m gonna record something for Eddie, are you sure you don’t want to—“

“ _No,_ ” Richie says emphatically. 

There’s a short pause, then Mike says calmly, “I’ll be downstairs if you change your mind.” 

He won’t change his mind. What the fuck would he even say? _“Hi Eds, just so you know, I’m in love with you, sorry we didn’t nail that point down before you left me forever. Also I’m planning to rot on this planet, see you never!”_

No. Even the sarcastic voice in his head makes him feel nauseous. 

He lies on his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling. Idly, he wonders where Eddie is, what he’s seeing, what Earth looks like from where he is. He wonders how he handled the launch, smiling despite himself when he imagines the others having to deal with a pissy, stressed out Eds. They’re probably horrified, regretting every decision that led them to be trapped in a steel tube thousands of miles from Earth with that terrifying little gremlin that he loves so much. 

This is exactly why he should have gone. No one else knows how to deal with his moods, how to talk him off the ledge. No one knows him like Richie does. 

It’s dusk by the time he can drag himself out of bed. Mike is gone when he traipses downstairs, probably out in the field finishing up for the day. He digs three-day old casserole out of the fridge and eats it cold, not even tasting it. 

The recording equipment gleams where Mike conveniently left it set up on the kitchen table, taunting him. He watches it the entire time he eats, washing the sludge down with lukewarm tap water. He pours himself something stronger, keeping one eye on the screen that’s taken up half the table. 

“Fucking nuisance,” he mutters, slamming back his drink, relishing the burn. 

He pours another and watches the blank screen some more. Idly considers setting it on fire. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters.

He sits down, slamming his glass on the table next to him. There’s a few buttons on the screen, grey and nondescript, indiscernible from each other until Mike got his hands on it and neatly labeled each one. He finds the ‘Record’ button and all but punches it, blinking rapidly when the red light comes on. 

“Hey Eds,” he says roughly. 

He shakes his head, catching sight of his bitter reflection on the screen. It’s a fuzzy image, but he still can tell he looks like shit. He hasn’t slept and it shows. His hair is a matted mess, his glasses are smudged, eyes red-rimmed and blurry with what he thinks are probably permanent tears at this point. 

“You fucking idiot,” Richie says, laughing harshly at himself. He drains his drink; the shit he’s drinking is meant to be sipped, so his tongue is already loose when he continues, “You fucking _idiot_. 

“I don’t know what pisses me off more, honestly. The fact that you believed Brand’s grade A bullshit in the first place, risking your life on a flaky ass promise from a psychopath, or that you left before I could tell you—” 

He can’t say it. He coughs instead, controlled and short this time, and scrubs a hand over his tired face. 

“Jesus Eds. And you actually _apologized_. For what? For loving me?”

He glances away. His eyes land on the shoe rack by the door, on Richie’s shoes tossed haphazardly next to a pair of Eddie’s he left behind, neat and perfect with the laces tucked inside. 

“No,” Richie continues hoarsely. He keeps his eyes on the shoes. “You apologized because you knew… you knew I felt the same, how could you not? I kissed you back, you know. Did you even fucking notice? God Eds, I’ve loved you since you hijacked your dad’s plane when we were twelve, you _had_ to know… there’s no way you didn’t, right?” 

He sniffs, shaking his head again and looking at the table top. 

“Do you remember that old bridge by the quarry? Where all those couples carved their initials, and where you scratched the shit out of the ‘Henry Bowers was here’ message after he threw that rock at Mike? Yeah, well… I bet you can guess where I’m going with this. I don’t know if it’s still there, if that bridge is even still… god, this doesn’t fucking matter. You’re not coming back, you’ll never even… _fuck._ ”

He ends the recording. The ‘Send’ button mocks him, flashing blue and reflecting off his glasses and back at the empty black screen. His thumb hovers over it, shaking a little. 

He should send it. He should tell him. He can’t leave it like this, he can’t let him think he’s loved Richie alone all this time.

He presses ‘Delete’ instead. 

The chair falls to the floor, forgotten in his haste to get outside and as far away from the fucking thing as he can. 

He’s drawn to the fields. There’s a sizable patch of grass right out back that they never planted on because of Eddie’s stupid plane. Richie doesn’t look at the hangar, beelining for the oaks around the edges of the stalks that Mike could never bear to tear down. The old hammock is still strung between two of them, and Richie folds himself into it, clutching at his chest as he tries to catch his breath. They outgrew the hammock years ago, but it still feels too big, too empty without Eddie clambering for space next to him. 

He doesn’t notice the dust clouds in the distance. 

* * *

  
  


“Richie isn’t scheduled for surgery?” 

Dr. Brand has barely appeared on screen before Eddie starts in on him. He only blinks at Eddie, infuriating in his composure.

 _“I’m afraid he’s refusing treatment, at the moment,”_ Dr. Brand confirms. He tilts his head, eyeing Eddie’s scrubs, half soaked in the back. _“Are the others asleep?”_

“Yes,” Eddie retorts tersely. 

_“Your life support—“_

“I’m not sleeping until I know he’s on the table,” Eddie interrupts heatedly. “You _told_ me you would save him, you promised, you—”

_“I did, and I fully intend to do so, but I cannot force him to accept treatment.”_

“Yes you can,” Eddie insists. “He’s stubborn as fuck, you _have_ to force him or he’ll just make stupid decision after stupid decision until he—”

_“Dr. Kaspbrak, it doesn’t work that way and you know it.”_

“You— please,” Eddie says. He’s begging now, but he doesn’t care. “ _Please_ , I can't do this unless I know he’s safe.”

_“I understand, but I cannot hold him at gunpoint, Dr. Kaspbrak.”_

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, looking at Earth through the window, now just a speck in the distance. “I know,” Eddie says tightly. 

_“Perhaps you could appeal to him directly? I could try to get him in for a call.”_

“He won’t talk to me,” Eddie admits miserably. His fingers clench on his knees. “He’s still too angry, it’d be a waste of time.”

_“Then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. You cannot stay awake until he comes around, Dr. Kaspbrak. There will not be enough life support for your journey back to Earth if you do.”_

His hands clench so hard he nearly draws blood, crescent marks bright red on his palm. He shivers; the heating mechanisms of the Endurance are already at minimum capacity while they sleep to save energy, and the adrenaline has faded enough to leave him chilled. He feels droplets of water trickle down his neck as Brand watches him patiently. 

“I’ll record another message,” Eddie decides after a pregnant pause. 

_“Very well. And then I must insist that you sleep, Dr. Kaspbrak.”_

“Okay,” Eddie concedes. “Just. Please, don’t give up on him.”

 _“I won’t,”_ Brand promises, so earnest that Eddie believes him. 

Brand flickers and disappears. 

“TARS. Get this relayed to Earth as soon as I’m done, understand?”

TARS actually sighs, something that Eddie didn’t think should be possible for a fucking _robot._ “Of course. Not like I have a ship to run or anything.” 

Eddie smiles as he sets up the recording. “Careful, or you’ll get sixty percent.”

TARS wanders away, leaving Eddie alone with his reflection. 

“Hey Rich,” Eddie says to the blank screen. 

He’s scowling — he tries to adjust his face to look less pissed. Richie will either think it’s cute or match his anger, and neither of those options will help anyone. 

“Mike told me you refused the surgery, and quit NASA. And— I really want to yell at you right now, I won’t lie, but that seems pretty fucking unfair given the circumstances. So. This is me, calmly, telling you to get the _fuck_ over— sorry. No. I am asking, _calmly_ , for you to change your mind.”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to reign in his anger. He can picture how Richie would look at him trying to control himself like this, all dopey and fond. 

“I know you’re pissed. I would be too, in your position. I know you might never forgive me, but if I dragged my ass out here, millions of fucking miles away, for you to not—“

He cuts himself off, takes another quick breather. 

“Richie, just… listen. Me leaving shouldn’t torpedo your life, okay? NASA needs you. _Mike_ needs you. And _I_ fucking need you, okay? I need to know you’re alright. I need to know you’re alive, and that I’m not doing this for nothing. Because if anything happened to you, I couldn’t… there would be no point to any of this. Maybe that’s selfish, but I don’t give a fuck, so. There it is. 

“You know how I feel about you. You’re the most— you’re the most important person in my life. I can’t do this without you being okay, so please just let Brand help you.” 

He wipes the stray tears away, looking down at his lap for a long moment to collect himself. 

“I love you, Rich. Forever. Please… please do this. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. I know I have no right to ask you for favors, but you once told me you’d do anything for me, and so I’m— I’m cashing in now. 

“Please, Richie. For me.”

* * *

  
  


When Richie wakes up, Myra Doyle is looking down at him. 

“Hi Richie,” Myra greets him, unimpressed as ever with his overall existence. 

He blinks, and more of the room comes into focus — or at least, as much focus as is possible without his glasses. His nose itches; he can feel something foreign in each nostril, and there’s a tight feeling in the skin of his hand when he reaches up to scratch it. He blinks around, recognizes the starch walls, the faded blue scrubs, and the fact that Myra is here at all must mean—

“What the fuck,” Richie murmurs, and immediately starts coughing. It fucking _hurts_ to breathe. “Why’m I in the hospital?” 

“Don’t be crass,” Myra scolds, and Richie can’t help but glare at her blurry form. “You were caught in a dust storm, and given your condition, shockingly, your body did not respond well.”   
  
“Could do without the fucking sarcasm, thanks,” Richie croaks, and Myra tsks quietly. Richie ignores it. 

“You’ve been on oxygen for twelve hours, but there’s still a lot of inflammation in your lungs from the dust particles,” Myra continues, consulting a clipboard that must be his chart. “Eddie never mentioned you were allergic to penicillin.” 

“Why the fuck would he? Jesus, Myra, you’re still so fuckin’ weird.” 

Myra merely rolls her eyes, and pulls a larger file off the counter. He recognizes his X-rays and groans, fumbling at the bedside table for his glasses. She comes into sharp contrast then, short blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, glasses low on her nose as she looks at the images. She lifts the images up to the light and sighs, which Richie also ignores. He needs to get _out_ , like, immediately _._

“Right. Well, thanks for the O2 but I gotta jet.”   
  
Myra’s hand is on his shoulder before he’s even made an attempt to disentangle himself from the multitude of wires attached to his body. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” she says firmly, nails digging sharply into his skin. 

“Myra, you and I both know the two of us spending time together is not gonna end well.”

Richie doesn’t dislike all that many people, but Myra made it to the list when Eddie first started med school. She and Eddie were in the same class, and it was obvious from the second that Richie met her that she had a thing for Eddie. There’s nothing particularly _wrong_ with Myra, or even the fact that she harbors a hopeless crush on Eddie — Richie certainly can’t fault her for that — but they’ve had enough run-ins by now that they have a mutual unspoken agreement to avoid each other as much as possible. 

“Richie. You are in no shape to leave. We both know how Eddie would feel—”  
  
“Aaand that’s enough chit chat, thank you,” Richie cuts her off. “I’ll take two of these and call you in the morning. 

With his two middle fingers he tugs at the oxygen tubes in his nose. She slaps his hand away — Richie’s shocked enough by it that he actually stops. She crosses her arms and frowns at him. “Mike said you’re refusing the surgery.”  
  
“Why the fuck are you talking to Mike? Why the _fuck_ do you know about the— you know what, don’t answer that. It’s none of your business.” 

“It is when Eddie asked me to do your surgery.” 

Richie’s jaw drops to the floor like he’s a goddamn cartoon character. 

“Of course. Of _course_ that little fucking weasel, like he hasn’t ruined my life enough already, _Jesus_ Eddie—” 

“He’s trying to save your life, Richie, why are you being such a jackass?” 

“I’m _not_ talking about this, especially not with you,” Richie says definitively. 

He flops back on the bed dramatically and turns his head away, pointedly removing his glasses so he won’t have to look at her. Myra sighs, and he hears her shuffle around for a minute before walking out. 

The door opens a few minutes later, just as Richie is plotting his escape through the window. Mike shuffles in, head bowed a little when he comes in. 

“How you feeling, Richie?” 

“Fine,” Richie lies. Every inhale still really fucking burns. “Did you tell Myra my whole life story or something? You two gab it up while I was out, trade BFF necklaces?”  
  
“No,” Mike answers, bracing his hands against the back of the guest chair and leaning heavily against it. Richie turns away, looking out the window as Mike talks. “I didn’t tell her anything, except that I found you unconscious in the hammock out back, covered in the thickest layer of dust I’ve ever seen, and that you’re being a goddamn idiot as usual. You wanna tell me what the hell that was about, by the way?” 

“I fell asleep.” 

“You sure? You weren’t out there on purpose?” 

Richie looks over fast; Mike looks both furious and like he’s on the verge of tears. Richie sits up, hastily shoving his glasses on again, and it’s only then that he sees he’s already crying. 

“Mike, no, dude, I just— it was an accident, I promise.” 

“That dust cloud was huge, Richie. You had to have seen it,” Mike insists, and wow, there really isn’t much worse than making Mike cry. 

“Mike, I promise, I wasn’t trying to— I mean, I was really fucking upset, I was thinking about… about Eddie,” Richie manages; Eddie’s name feeling _wrong_ in his mouth somehow. “But I wasn’t trying to check out early or anything, okay?” 

“Swear to me.” 

“Jesus, Mike.”  
  
“I’m not kidding. _Swear_ to me, Richie,” Mike says, stepping closer, towering over the bed. He half expects him to offer his pinky. 

“I swear, Mikey,” Richie says earnestly, looking Mike dead in the eye. “It was just a stupid accident.” 

Mike releases a breath, and then Richie has a lap full of him as he throws his arms around Richie’s shoulders, collapsing on the bed beside him. 

“Don’t do it again,” Mike says, vaguely threatening. “I mean it. I can’t lose you too.” 

Richie stiffens, quickly suppressing the urge to think about Eddie and focuses on Mike, wrapping his arms around him as best he can. Mike pulls away after a minute, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Please don’t ever cry in front of me again Mikey, holy shit. I can’t handle it. That was worse than watching a puppy cry.” 

“Then don’t do stupid shit to make me cry,” Mike counters with a smile. 

Mike sits on the edge of the bed and Richie relaxes back into the pillows. They’re quiet for a while, listening to the slow thumping of Richie’s oxygen tank and the steady beep of his heart monitor. 

“Did you know Ed— _he_ asked her to be my surgeon?” Richie asks. 

“No,” Mike admits. “But it makes sense. He trusts her, he always said she was the best. After him, obviously.” 

Richie snorts. “Smug little bastard.” 

They’re quiet for a while. Richie closes his eyes, laying back again, and like a sixth sense, he knows what Mike’s gonna say before he’s even opened his mouth. 

“Richie—”   
  
“No, Mike.” 

“You _just_ swore to me—”   
  
“I swore I wouldn’t go playing in dust storms on purpose,” Richie says, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly. “I didn’t say anything about being cut open by a woman who despises me.” 

“Don’t be a child,” Mike chastises. Richie opens his eyes. “She’d never hurt you, Richie, you know that.”   
  
“Okay well I’m still not—”

“How is this different?” Mike interrupts, picking up steam. “How is refusing treatment any different from killing yourself in a dust storm?”

“Fuck you, dude—”  
  
“No, fuck _you_ Richie,” Mike says angrily. Richie can count on one hand the times he’s seen Mike this mad, and it was never directed at him. It’s a little terrifying. “You’re throwing away everything Eddie did for you, the sacrifice he’s making for you, for _everyone_.” 

“He didn’t make a fucking sacrifice, Mike, he _left,_ ” Richie argues. His chest burns now that he’s worked up, breaths coming fast and painful. He pushes up on one elbow; Mike’s expression is stormy. “He went on his grand space adventure and left us, why can’t you see that?” 

“He loves you, Richie,” Mike says, and that shuts Richie up more effectively than being beeped. “ _That’s_ what I see. He didn’t abandon you because he wanted adventure, or to be a hero, Eddie doesn’t give a shit about any of that and you _know_ that. I know you know better than that.” 

“You watched his message?” Richie asks quietly. 

“I didn’t have to. I’ve been watching you since we were teenagers. Neither one of you are subtle, you know.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Richie mumbles, and immediately winces — he hates bringing up Bill, maybe even more so than Mike does. 

If it hurts him, Mike doesn’t let it show. “He left you another one, by the way. I did listen to that one, since you were busy falling asleep in a dust blanket like a dumbass. You’re lucky I didn’t tell him that part.” 

Mike gets up, digs out the briefcase Brand left for them. He pulls a tablet from it and pushes it into Richie’s hands, hitting play before Richie can protest. 

_“Hey Rich.”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MYRA I-DON'T-KNOW-HER-REAL-MAIDEN-NAME RIGHTS!!
> 
> yeah i wanted to give myra a nicer role in this. i know people have conflicting opinions about her but this myra will be like unrecognizable from st*phen k*ng's myra don't worry
> 
> ps, i realized i didn't say this before... if you haven't already noticed, all the chapter titles come from the interstellar soundtrack <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/edskaspbraking), [tumblr](https://hyruling.tumblr.com/)


	5. where we're going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back! sorry for such a long delay since the last chapter, but today i bring you 2 chapter updates woo! i struggled with these chapters because uh wormholes are hard to describe friends, and i'm still not completely happy with it but if i keep staring at it i'll never post again, so. it is what it is
> 
> HUGE shoutout to sabi and mars, my number 1 cheerleaders for this fic who've helped me with ideas and let me send them excerpts to unofficially beta, i love u both sm <3
> 
> cw for emetophobia in this chapter

**_2080  
_ ** **_Saturn_ **

The Endurance accelerates towards Saturn, and Eddie dreams.

He dreams of Richie, twelve years old, cocky and crass and calling him ‘Eds’ for the first time, laughing when Eddie shoves him away to swear for the first time in his life, _‘that’s not my f-fucking name!’_

He dreams of Richie at eighteen, tall and lanky with hair nearly to his shoulders, brilliant and wide eyed for the future. He dreams of their last night before leaving for undergrad, the uncharacteristic anxiety that draped across Richie’s shoulders, the way his hands shook when he said, ‘ _You’re sticking with me, right Kaspbrak_?’ 

And he had. For twelve years he never left Richie’s side, never once felt any temptation to. Most of his dreams are of their first apartment, the one with the faucet that always dripped no matter how much they tightened the cartridge, and the squeaky floorboard on the stairs that Richie never remembered to step over after a late night out. The one with the living room that glowed golden in the evening sun, Richie stretched out on the couch and glowing with it as he laughs and laughs.

His dreams are endless and lucid, nearly all revolving around Richie. Before long Eddie’s brain can’t differentiate between memory and dreams, and he lives an entire life with Richie as he sleeps, the kind of life he never imagined he’d get to have. He won’t remember it when he wakes, too heavily sedated for his brain to store it all, but he’ll take it and keep it close for as long as he’s allowed. 

* * *

“Up and at em, Dr. Kaspbrak!” 

TARS’ cheerful voice pierces like daggers in his pounding skull. 

“Shut— the fuck— up,” Eddie gasps, curled in on himself in his pod, dripping and nauseous. 

He’s never been this sick. Not when he got drunk on gin for the first time in Bill’s basement, not when Richie made him ride the Tilt a Whirl ten times in a row at the state fair when they were twelve, not _any_ of the times he had the flu. He heaves, vomit spilling into the can that appeared next to his pod when he was harshly dragged out of cryosleep and back to reality. 

And there’s the other problem. He can still feel Richie everywhere like a bad hangover, the remnants of his dreams still fresh as they’ll ever be in his mind even as his body tries to push him out. 

He hears retching nearby and knows he’s not alone. Stan groans loudly and Eddie hears his wet feet land on the floor. He hears him speaking quietly to Patty, who is still waking and also starting to groan miserably. 

“There’s antiemetics— in the med pod,” Eddie manages, finally blinking his blurry eyes open and lifting his head to see Bev standing in the entryway. 

“Here,” she says, walking briskly towards him now that he seems to be less likely to puke on her. 

She’s dry and upright, fully dressed and smiling gently as she hands Eddie the pills and a bottle of water. 

“You. How,” is all Eddie manages to mumble. 

“I had TARS wake me a little earlier,” Bev explains. He feels a cold compress against his neck and sighs, leaning into her hand. “Someone needed to be functional while the rest of you struggled awake.”

“ _I’m_ the doctor _,_ I should— you should have let me do it.”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure everything was in order.”

He reads the truth in her shrug. She wanted to be sure the mission was still viable, that they didn’t need to pull the ripcord before it even really began. 

“Well. Thanks,” Eddie says, blinking rapidly to try and get his bearings. “Where—“

“No. No mission talk for at least an hour. Get your body in order and then we’ll all talk.”

She leaves without a word, heading for Stan and Patty with more medicine and water. 

Eddie shakes his head, which triggers another wave of nausea that he swallows down. Slowly he takes the antiemetics, careful not to tilt his head back too far, and breathes. 

They made it. Two years of sleep that passed by in a blink. He hasn’t looked outside yet but somewhere out there is Saturn, one point two billion kilometers from home. From—

“TARS,” he says suddenly. “Any messages from Earth?” 

“Many,” TARS answers, and some of the anxiety constricting his throat eases. “I can play them for you when you’re ready.” 

“I— yeah, okay, let me just—“

He steps down on solid ground, only swaying slightly. His body isn’t used to being upright; it takes several long moments for him to acclimate. Once he can stand still without a trace of vertigo he slowly grabs one of the towels nearby, wrapping it around his shoulders. 

“Dry clothes are in your bunks,” TARS says. Bev is slowly leading Stan and Patty in that direction and Eddie follows. 

He changes as quickly as he can without triggering his nausea. Richie’s jacket hangs innocuously in his tiny closet, the only item he bothered to hang at all, and he tugs it on over his white t-shirt, thankful for the familiar warmth as his wet hair chills him. Once he’s dressed he finds the control room, a little surprised at the way his feet carry him there automatically. 

Bev is already there, dutifully completing the post cryosleep checks on the top deck with CASE, and nods at Eddie when he sits in front of the screen. He puts in the headphones that accompany the device and nods at TARS.

“Okay. I’m ready.” 

TARS’ screen scrolls through a long list of logs until he finds Eddie’s messages, and then the screen lights up with Mike’s smiling face. 

“ _Hey Eddie,_ ” Mike’s deep voice greets him, and tears well in his eyes before he can help it. “ _It’s only been about two weeks since you took off, but I still wanted to check in. Especially considering, you know. Where we left things last time we talked_.”

 _Last time we talked._ Like Eddie was just chatting on the front porch with him, like it was just yesterday. 

“ _Richie agreed to surgery_ ,” he says, and Eddie lets out a shaky sob, tears springing to his eyes again, this time of abject relief. He presses his fingertips to his eyes to stem them. “ _He’s scheduled for next week. Myra is doing it, like you wanted. I know you wanted to hear from her, Dr. Brand is working on getting a recorder to her, so. You can take a breath, Eddie_.” 

He laughs; leave it to Mike to just know he was on the verge of a breakdown. 

“ _Richie still doesn’t… I can't get him to agree to talk_ ,” Mike says apologetically. Eddie swallows; he’d been expecting that, of course, but it still stings. “ _If it helps, he’s barely talking to me either. He’ll have to suck it up when I’m the one dragging his ass back home after surgery though, so I have hope_ ,” he finishes with a rueful smile. 

“ _I’ll let you go. Don’t wanna overwhelm you too much when you wake up. Stay safe Eddie, I love you_.”

“Love you, Mike,” Eddie says under his breath as Mike disappears. 

The next message plays automatically, a grainy video of Myra. She doesn’t exactly smile at the screen but gives a weird sort of grimace, pulling her hand away from the record button. He recognizes the interior of her office at the hospital. 

“ _Hi Eddie_ ,” she says shortly. “ _Hope you’re safe. You leaving finally got me promoted to chief resident pulmonologist, so in a way I should probably thank you for that_.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. He and Myra always had a sort of competitive nature at the hospital, but she’s the only one other than himself he’d trust to do Richie’s transplant. 

“ _I’ll get right to it_ ,” she says in her usual brisk tone; it doesn’t make her a favorite for bedside manner, but Eddie has always appreciated it. “ _Richie’s pre-op blood work looks good. His donor lungs are a good size, and he’s responding well to the breathing treatments I have him on._ ” 

She hesitates, and Eddie’s heart lodges in his throat. “ _He is… hesitant, still, but I think he’s ready._ ” 

Eddie takes deep breaths, listening as she reviews his bloodwork and pre-op testing in detail. She signs off with promises to update him after surgery, and the very next video is of her still in her scrubs, looking tired but pleased.

“ _Surgery went very well_ ,” she opens with, diving in without preamble or pleasantries. She pulls out scans and X-rays and pictures as she gives him every detail of the surgery, showing them all to the camera. Eddie’s fingers reach out on instinct, reaching for this tiny sliver of Richie that he has access to. 

“ _He’s in post-op ICU right now. I’m going to keep him on a ventilator for a few days, I’ll keep you posted_.”

And god bless her, she does. There are a handful of videos left — she took Eddie’s begging to heart, it seems, updating him every time she so much as adjusts his oxygen levels or his prescriptions. 

She tells him Richie is released after five days in the hospital with a plethora of anti-rejection drugs. Eddie doesn’t see his face once.

It’s okay — it’s enough to know he’s alive, that he’s doing well — that this wasn’t all for nothing. Myra said his recovery went as well as could ever be expected, and she was hopeful that his body would accept the new lungs without issue. It’s all he could ask for. 

Mike starts appearing again, giving his own updates on Richie post operation. He tells him that Richie was back in the fields less than a month after surgery, _with_ the proper mask this time, gingerly getting back into the routine of managing the farm with Mike.

Eddie watches countless messages from Mike, spanning months. Mike records at least twice a month, if not once a week, and Eddie watches ravenously, missing him so much his chest aches with it. He waits, hoping against hope, but Richie never appears with his own message. Eddie sees him in the background once, coming into frame briefly before ducking out like the house was on fire when he noticed the screen. Eddie rewinds those three seconds at least ten times before moving on. 

Eventually, the topics shift from Richie’s recovery to general updates from Earth. Mike tells him that their last harvest was barely enough to get them through the winter, but they were having decent success with potatoes. Eddie‘s stomach churns, wishing he could see Richie, see if his face is looking gaunt the way Mike’s is. 

Eddie makes it through the first year of updates when Richie finally makes a real appearance. 

“ _Hi, Eds._ ”

He nearly falls off the chair with the way he shoots forward, reaching out to touch the screen without a thought for smudges. 

He looks good — healthy. Maybe a little slimmer in the cheeks than he remembers, but he can see color in them. His hair is longer, the curls wild around his temples, but otherwise he’s the same. Eddie counts every one of his easy breaths while Richie hesitates, memorizes his expression as his face twists on the screen. 

“ _So. Sorry I uh, haven’t made one of these. I know Mike’s been keeping you updated, and I just— I couldn’t, man. I was really—_ “ 

He cuts himself off, laughing shortly and looking off to the side as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not gonna sit here and make excuses. I know you can guess why I didn’t make one of these before, and I’m. Fuck, I’m sorry, Eds. I was being an asshole, you didn’t deserve that.”

 _Neither did you_ , Eddie thinks, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“ _But uh. I can't stay long, I— I’m back at NASA, you know. Dunno if Mike told you. Me and Dr. Brand have been working on the gravity equation, but there’s so much we don’t know. He told me not to worry all of you, but like… it’s fucking hard, man, I can't lie about that_.” 

Eddie laughs, chest swelling with pride. 

Richie continues, “ _I think Mike’s gonna come on board soon. Brand has been pestering him since you left. He’s got Georgie working the fields part time — yeah, I know,” he says with a grimace. “I hate it too, but he says he needs the help. Georgie is still a little bit of an asshole but, he’s. You know. Family. He kind of lost his way after school, and his parents — we couldn’t just sit by and let him starve. Anyway, the farm’s mostly automated by now. Think once the kid can manage it, he’ll take over for good and Mike can come work here full time._ ” 

He hesitates, eyes flickering around nervously. Eddie aches to touch him, smooth the anxious furrow of his brow. 

“ _I’m. I’m not gonna talk about what happened when you left, Eds,”_ he says quietly _. “I just. I can’t, okay? I wanted to, but then I thought about you out there, risking your life and I— I can’t put that on you. And I wanted you to know I’m okay. Myra’s still insufferable but she really fixed me up man, and every check up she says it’s like I’m a new person. So, you can, you know. Sleep easy knowing I’m alright_.” 

His breath shudders, and Eddie almost panics until he sees the tears in his eyes. 

“ _I really miss you_.”

Eddie breaks then, choking on a sob as his head falls to his bent knees, and he hears Richie holding back tears too.

“ _I miss you so fucking much, Eds,_ ” he continues. Eddie keeps his head down — as desperate as he was to see Richie’s face before, he finds he can’t look at him like this.

“ _I want you to come home so fucking bad, Eddie. So— so this is me saying that. I’m fine, and— and please be safe. Do what you gotta do, and then come the fuck home . I’m really sick of corn, and these fucking potatoes_.” 

Eddie laughs wetly, looking up then to see Richie smiling too, tears on his cheeks. 

“ _Miss you. L— Come home soon_.”

The screen goes black. Eddie leans forward and turns it off completely, giving into the sobs. He buries his head between his knees and cries until his throat hurts and he’s gasping quietly, until Stan has to gently pull him away from the screen and off to his bunk to calm down.

Stan waits outside, giving him his space while he lets it all out. He pulls Richie’s jacket tight around himself, taking deep breaths on his bunk and missing him like a limb. To him, it’s only been a few weeks since he last saw him. He’s not sure how he’s going to get through this. 

When he’s calmed down enough, Stan comes back in with more water and a protein bar. 

“This is exactly why Brand had the no attachments rule,” Stan says wryly, sitting on the chair across from him. 

Eddie shoots him a look as he swallows half the bottle. “I’m fine,” he gasps out.

“No, you’re not,” Stan says simply. “You lost it after one video from him.” 

“Appreciate the concern Uris, but I’m fucking fine,” Eddie insists, ripping open the protein bar with more force than necessary.

“If you keep calling me Uris I’m tossing you out of an airlock,” Stan says evenly. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, or insinuate you can’t do your job.”

“Ha,” Eddie barks out. 

“ _However,_ ” Stan continues. “We _all_ need to keep our head in the game here. We may not have left anyone back home like you, but we’re all compromised, here. You want to save Denbrough and get home, I want to keep my wife safe and give her a future, and Bev—“

He stops, looking at Eddie appraisingly.

“Hanscom, right?” Eddie guesses, and Stan nods.

“If you tell her I told you, she’ll throw _both_ of us out of an airlock,” Stan continues, and Eddie laughs shortly, believing every word. “But yeah. We’re all compromised, and we need to watch out for each other. Keep each other’s heads clear and focused on the mission. Agreed?” 

“Yeah. You’re right.” 

“Good. So if I snap at you to stop moping about Richie, I just want you to know. It’s nothing personal, okay? I like Richie. And I like you, but we need to keep our shit together to get through this, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. 

Stan smiles, adjusting his glasses before clapping a hand in Eddie’s shoulder. 

“This also means I can tell you and Patty off for PDA though.”

Stan laughs and shakes his head, hand falling back to his lap. “Then you’ll have her to answer to, and god help you.”

They fall silent for a moment. Stan waits, patient and more intuitive than Eddie previously thought. 

“I think— I think I’ve been really selfish.” 

Stan says nothing, only raises his eyebrows and waits. 

Eddie clears his throat. “I left him. Both of them, I—. I was so single minded, so focused on fixing things, on saving Richie’s life that I didn’t consider what he wanted. He _told_ me he didn’t want me to do this for him, and I didn’t listen, and now he’s... I just left him alone to pick up the pieces, to clean up after our fucking mess, to… fucking _mourn_ me. I’m so fucking selfish Stan.” 

Stan’s face doesn’t change. He watches Eddie sagely until he’s done, taking a moment to consider Eddie’s words before he responds. 

“Eddie, there is immense bravery in what you did,” Stan says after a long moment of contemplation. “Selfishness and selflessness have nothing to do with it. Richie was dying, and you love him. You jumped on board a spaceship on what many consider a suicide mission to save him. With barely a thought for your own safety or wellbeing.” 

“But—” 

“There is an inherent selfishness in wanting to save the world, Eddie,” Stan continues with a wry sort of grin. “We all say we’re doing it to save others, and on this crew I genuinely believe that’s true, but everyone wants the glory a little bit too. But there is nothing selfish about giving up your own life for someone else.”

Eddie has nothing to say in response. He’s not quite sure he believes him, but he says nothing, crinkling the wrapper of the protein bar for something to do with his hands. Stan claps his shoulder one more time before he leaves, giving Eddie some time to eat and finish his water. He feels marginally calmer after, heart not quite thudding in his chest like it was before, but he still can’t quite shake the unease settling over him like a cloud. 

He doesn’t watch the rest of the videos. Not yet. They have work to do, and he’ll never be able to make it back to Richie if he keeps trying to live in the past. 

“Three hours to the wormhole,” Bev says when he joins her in the control room to do his own fuel and trajectory checks. 

“Good,” Eddie says tightly, focusing on the control panel in front of him. 

“Nervous?” 

“Yeah, it's an unknowable fucking wormhole Bev, you could say I’m a little on edge,” Eddie snaps, regretting the tone immediately, but she only giggles. 

“Hey, we know the others made it,” she says with a shoulder nudge. 

“Thanks. Suddenly my anxiety is gone.”

“Jesus, you’re not a morning person, huh.”

“Nope. Should have brought Richie if that's what you wanted.” 

Her expression softens. Sometimes he forgets she was close to him too. “How is he?”

“Good,” he repeats, proud that his hand only slips a little when he checks their fuel stores. “He’s uh. The surgery went well, he’s fully recovered.” 

She exhales with a smile. “And Mike?”

“Also good. Brand roped them both into working at NASA.

“Well, there you go. At least we’ve got the best of the best working on getting us home.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says distantly, focused on CASE’s trajectory plans for the wormhole. 

Bev falls into easy silence with him, always knowing somehow when he needs it. Months in the simulator could account for it, but he knows it’s deeper than that. He may as well have known Bev as long as he’s known Richie and Mike, feels that bone deep connection to her that he’s rarely felt in his life. She touches his arm and smiles, and they get to work. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Three hours later, nearly to the second, they’re rapidly approaching the wormhole. 

Stan had made them turn off the centripetal motion so they could get a good look about an hour ago. From a distance it looked like it’s own planet, invisible, stretching the vastness of the space around it across its center. The surface rippled like water, cycling stars and planets through it repeatedly. 

“It’s a sphere,” Eddie had said, perhaps a little naively based on the way Stan huffed out a laugh next to his ear. 

“Yeah, it’s a sphere. What were you expecting?”  
  
Eddie bristled. “I don’t know, the illustrations all show—” 

“Well the illustrations are trying to show you how it works. Here.” 

Stan reached over Eddie’s shoulder to grab a pad and pencil and drew a line between two circles. 

“So you’re trying to get from point A to point B. The fastest way is a straight line, but the distance is too far, right?” Eddie nods, and Stan folds the paper in half. “So a wormhole bends time and space so that you can—” 

He pierced the pencil through the two circles, now touching. Eddie nodded. 

“Right.” 

“It’s fascinating,” Stan had said reverently, staring at the wormhole in the distance like he’d found God. 

Now they’re all strapped down, fully suited, and the controls start to shake in Eddie’s hand the closer they get. He feels sweat prickle down his face and back the closer they get. Bev is stoic next to him, concentrating deeply on keeping them steady. 

“Any trick to this, Stan?” Eddie asks when they’re right at the cusp. 

“No one knows,” Stan says ominously.

“Fucking fantastic,” Eddie mumbles, earning a small laugh from Patty in his ear. 

“Easy does it, Eddie,” Patty says. 

“Uh-uh, no backseat driving right now Patricia,” Eddie says, purposely using her full name to earn another giggle. It calms him down being able to make her laugh at a time like this, when Bev and Stan are eerie statues. 

“Fine, I’ll give my expertise to Bev.” 

“And Bev appreciates that Pats, but we’re roughly one minute out now. Deep breaths, everyone,” Bev says. 

Eddie takes her advice, inhaling and exhaling slow and steady. As they approach the center, it seems to pull them to the edge. Galaxies swirl ahead of them, endless stars trickling down the center of the chasm. 

It becomes harder and harder to steer, the stick practically jumping out of his hand. He sees Bev is in a similar state next to him, hairline wet with sweat. 

“Hard to starboard,” she grits out. 

Eddie tries to comply, but it fights him. With a lurch, they’re pulled into the edge of the churning wormhole, gliding along the edge like a ship in a bay. Alarms sound off all around them, the cockpit silent but for the screaming beeps. Eddie can’t find the words to describe what’s happening outside, like being pulled into the gaping maw of the universe. Dimension itself is an illusion, space being pulled and twisted and bent all around them in a way that his brain tells him is impossible, yet he can’t deny what he’s seeing with his own eyes. He sees the purple clouds of galaxies roll under the ship like a wave, a spray of planets roll over their heads like a flock of birds. 

The shuddering is nearly out of control. Bev reaches to ease the feedback when Stan’s voice stops her. 

“The controls won’t work here,” he says. “We’re passing through the bulk — space beyond our three dimensions. All we can do is record and observe.” 

Bev retracts her hand, sharing an uneasy look with Eddie.

“What is that?” Patty asks. 

The others turn, and Eddie swallows down a gasp. It’s a distortion of space right inside the cockpit, something eerily humanoid and reaching for Bev. 

“I think it’s them,” Bev whispers. 

She reaches her hand towards it, ignoring Stan telling her not to. They watch as her hand twists and warps in hit’s grasp; she gasps, and Eddie can see her awe-stricken face in the reflection of her helmet.

Just as suddenly, it disappears, leaving her extending her hand towards empty space. 

“What was that?” Stan breathes. 

Bev looks over, tears in her eyes and the first smile Eddie has seen on her face since they arrived. “First handshake.” 

The ship lurches, and when Eddie looks through the glass they’re careening upwards along a smooth surface of space. They glide up and out, more gentle than their entrance into the wormhole, until the alarms stop sounding and Endurance is floating calmly through space again. 

“We’re… we’re here,” Patty says softly. 

Eddie can’t see much from his viewpoint, but it looks much like their own solar system. A bright, brilliant sun in the distance. Endless stars framing larger planets, too small to make out much detail from where they’re gliding. 

“TARS, adjust our course towards the viable planets,” Eddie instructs. 

“Aye aye, Dr. Kaspbrak.” 

“Look,” Patty says, having unbuckled already and made her way towards one of the larger port windows. 

Eddie and the other two follow suit, bumping into each other as they glide towards her. Patty extends a hand; Stan holds onto her, Bev taking his free hand. Eddie takes Bev’s elbow and lets himself be pulled towards where they’re all huddled at the window. 

“CASE, reactivate the gravity once our course is adjusted,” Bev commands. Stan groans and Eddie reaches out to squeeze his hand sympathetically. 

“Look,” Patty repeats, and they follow her eyeline. 

It’s Gargantua, the massive blackhole they knew existed in this system from their initial data. It’s incredible to see in person, the way everything around it is sucked into its depths, the halo of light around the edge that disappears past the horizon, the rings that resemble Saturn’s. It’s situated close to their destination, the trio of planets deemed viable by their probes. The planets where they’ll find Bill, and Hanscom, and Klok.

Gravity is restored suddenly, dropping them all to the floor a puppet with cut strings. They end up a mass of intertwined arms and limbs, groaning as they try to disentangle themselves from each other. Bev and Patty start laughing until it becomes uncontrollable and contagious, holding onto each other on the ground. Eddie gently removes Patty’s foot from his chest as he sits up before he gives in and starts laughing too, and even sees a grin on Stan’s face as he watches Patty and Bev giggle themselves to tears. 

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says when he’s calmed down. Patty and Bev suck in deep breaths and try to sober up, grins plastered on their faces as Eddie helps Stan to his feet. They help pull the other two up and brush nonexistent dust off their suits. 

“Let’s get to work.” 

* * *

They take an hour to decompress. Eddie showers and changes into sweats and a t-shirt, tugging Richie’s jacket over his shoulders again. He joins the others in the area of the ship they’ve called the “den”. It’s as close to a living room as they have, with built in seating and screens where they can work, or, theoretically watch movies in their limited downtime. 

Bev and Patty are hunched over something at the small table, Stan studying the map of their new solar system he’d managed to scrounge together with TARS. It’s projected on the large screen, three small planets orbiting their new sun and Gargantua. 

“Alright. What do we have?” Eddie asks as he settles in the chair across from the table, taking a long pull from a bottle of water. 

“The lost communications came through,” Stan starts without looking away from the screen. “The relay on this side cached them.” 

He draws his attention away from the screen then to consult a clipboard. “Years of basic data. No real surprises. Denbrough’s site has continuously pinged thumbs up, as has Dr. Klok. Hanscom’s went down eleven months ago.”  
  
Bev pales. “Transmitter failure?” she asks. 

“Maybe,” Stan says kindly. “He was sending the thumbs up right until it went dark.”

“Denbrough’s still looks good though, right?” Patty says, twisting around towards Stan and consulting her own data sheet. “He’s coming up fast.”

“Mmhmm,” Stan says, exchanging a knowing glance with her. 

“What?” Eddie asks, looking between the two of them. 

“There’s a complication,” Patty says, pressing the eraser tip of her pencil to her temple as she reads over the clipboard. “His planet is much closer to Gargantua than we thought. His and Klok’s both orbit it, but the proximity of Denbrough’s is particularly worrisome.”  
  
Eddie’s stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“His planet is right on the horizon, orbiting like a basketball around a hoop,” Patty says. Stan frowns grimly, clearly already seeing what Patty is seeing. “If we land there, it’ll take us dangerously close to it, and a black hole of Gargantua’s size has a _huge_ gravitational pull.” 

Eddie stands, sidling next to Stan to study the map, heart in his throat. “Well I— look, we can swing around this neutron star to decelerate,” he offers, pointing it out on the screen. 

“No, that’s. That’s not the problem,” Stan says next to him.

“Then what is?” Bev asks. 

“Time,” Patty says simply, gravely. “The gravity on Denbrough’s planet will slow our clock compared to Earth’s drastically.” 

Eddie stumbles, catching the back of Patty’s chair to right himself. “How drastically?” 

Patty looks back down at her notepad, scribbling in little calculations in the margins. “Every hour we spend on that planet will be… shit.” 

“Will be what?” Eddie asks, throat tight. 

“Seven years back on Earth,” Patty finishes quietly, immediately looking at Eddie with sympathy in her eyes. 

“ _Fuck._ ”

Eddie turns on his heel, scrubbing a hand over his face. _Seven years._ Even if they manage to only spend a single hour down there, that’s seven years more until he sees Richie again. Seven years of silence, seven years where Richie might think he’s abandoned them for good, or dead.

“That’s relativity folks,” Stan says. 

“Okay,” Bev says quietly, studying the map with her hand over her mouth. “Obviously we may need to consider the possibility that we push onto Klok’s planet.” 

“What?” Eddie says, turning around again so fast his head spins. “No, we’re not abandoning Bill.” 

“We need to keep the mission in mind Eddie,” Bev says, firm but gentle. “If it’s unfeasible to rescue Denbrough, we have to move on. He knew the risks, he knew the chances of being rescued were extremely slim. The mission fails if everyone on Earth is dead by the time we bring him up.” 

“Hang on,” Stan interrupts, throwing out a hand out to prevent Eddie from arguing back. “We can’t just make this decision based on the relativity problem, there are more factors to consider. Look— Klok’s data is promising, as is Hanscom’s, but it will take us months to get there. Hanscom will take even longer. Denbrough hasn’t said much but what he has said is promising, water, organics—”  
  
“You don’t find that everyday,” Bev says.

“No, you don’t. So yes, going down there will cost us, but we have to consider all the variables here.” 

He looks at Eddie as he says it. Eddie nods to show his gratitude, and Stan lowers his arm. 

“Okay. You’re right, we need to think of time as a resource, like food and oxygen,” Bev says succinctly. “How do we do this then?”

They’re quiet for a moment. Eddie studies the screen, an idea formulating slowly.

“Patty, how far off of Bill’s planet do we have to be to avoid the time shift?” he asks, stepping over to a whiteboard next to the screen. 

“Just back from the cusp.”

“Which is here,” Eddie says, pointing to the edge of Gargantua. “Just outside of his planet.” 

He picks up a marker and draws a large circle and a smaller one right next to it. “So here’s Gargantua, here’s Bill’s planet. Instead of taking the Endurance into orbit around Miller’s planet, which would conserve fuel but we’d lose a shitload of time... “ 

He draws a line in a wide arc around the illustration of Bill’s planet. “We take a wider orbit around Gargantua, parallel with his planet, outside of the time shift — here.” He draws a point above the planet. “We take a Ranger down, we grab Bill and his samples, we come back to analyze and debrief. We’re in, we’re out. We lose a little fuel, but no one gets left behind, and we either find our new home or we rule it out.” 

“That’s good,” Patty says. 

“That’ll work,” Stan agrees. 

“There’s not gonna be time to fuck around down there, so TARS you should definitely stay here.”  
  
TARS shifts towards him, looking as offended as a huge rectangular machine can look. 

“CASE you’re with me, anyone else can stay.”  
  
“If we’re talking a few years… I could use that time to research gravity,” Stan says slowly. “Observations from Gargantua and the wormhole, that’s gold to Dr. Brand.” 

“I’m staying too,” Patty announces. “Two heads researching is better than one.”  
  
“Babylove, you don’t have to—"   
  
“Hush,” Patty says, reaching for Stan’s hand. “I’m not leaving you alone up here.”

“I’m with you,” Bev says, looking at Eddie. 

“Thanks Bev,” Eddie says. She nods. “Okay. TARS, factor an orbit around Gargantua. Conserve fuel, minimize thrusting, but make sure we stay in range of Bill’s planet.”

“I wouldn’t leave you behind,” TARS says. “Dr. Marsh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it would've hit harder if i'd waited until you know what for richie to leave his first message, but it honestly felt too out of character to wait that long. dw though i will make sure THOSE are sufficiently devastating


	6. mountains

Eddie records a message for Mike and Richie before he leaves. It’s short and to the point, letting them know he’s okay and that he misses him. TARS is unable to transmit it, the signal fighting him with every attempt, but promises Eddie he’ll keep trying. 

They take the Ranger, Bev rigid and focused next to him. Eddie and CASE go through the pre-launch checks. 

“I think we’re set,” Eddie says. “You ready CASE?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Eddie grins. “You don’t say much, do you CASE?”  
  
“TARS talks plenty for both of us.” 

“Think he might’ve imprinted on Stan,” Eddie jokes. Bev smiles, tight lipped. 

“Eddie,” she says. “I want you to know, I— I wasn’t trying to.” She takes a deep breath. “I didn’t _want_ to leave Bill behind, you know. I’m not heartless. I was just thinking about the mission, and keeping the crew safe.” 

“I know,” Eddie says earnestly. “I know that, Bev.” 

She blinks, bites her lip nervously. “I want you to feel like you can trust me down there.” 

“Bev, I do. I trust you.” 

He musters the most sincere smile he can, and she relaxes a bit. They’re distracted by CASE starting their countdown to detach. Bev squeezes his forearm as he counts.

“Goodbye Ranger,” Stan says in his ear. “We’ll miss you.” 

“See you in a few years,” Eddie says, heart wrenching a little, but Stan and Patty laugh. 

“And— detach,” CASE announces. 

They drop, Eddie guiding her down gently towards Bill’s planet. It’s dwarfed by Gargantua behind it, blinding with rings of light orbiting the darkness. 

The three of them are quiet as they descend, CASE speaking every now and then to update them on velocity. 

“We’re hitting atmosphere,” CASE announces between them. “This is fast for atmospheric entry. We should activate thrusters to slow.”

“No,” Eddie says. He feels Bev twist towards him. “I’m going to use the Ranger’s aerodynamics to save some fuel.”

“An air brake?” Bev barks, leaning forward against her belt to gape at him. “We never practiced this in the simulator.” 

“No, but I’ve done it in a real plane,” Eddie says. He’d broken his arm that summer, landing the duster when one of the engines went out midair in a terrifying free fall that nearly killed him. His arm twinges now when the Ranger starts to really shudder. 

“Eddie—“

“We wanna get there fast, don’t we?”

Bev scoffs. “Actually we want to get there alive.”

“Just trust me,” Eddie says. 

They look at each other for a long moment, and then she sits back. 

“Okay. Sticks all yours.” 

She relinquishes control to him and grips the armrests tight. 

“Hang on,” Eddie warns. 

The Ranger shakes and shudders through the thick atmosphere. Eddie holds tight to the stick, holding her as steady as he can. He hears Bev swearing under her breath and ignores it, focusing on the way the ship feels beneath him. 

Alarms start to sound, and Bev looks to him uneasily. 

“We should ease,” CASE warns.

“Hands where I can see them CASE,” Eddie barks. “I have this.” 

“A little caution would—”  
  
“Can get you killed just as fast as reckless driving,” Eddie shoots back. 

“It’s too damn fast,” CASE argues. 

“I got this.” 

The shaking gets worse, Eddie’s teeth vibrating in his skull, but his hands are as steady as when he's in the operating room. The air outside is red and fiery as they push through the atmosphere, but Eddie doesn’t feel the heat. This is his element, this is what he knows. 

“Should I disable the feedback?” CASE asks, sounding lost.

“No. I need to feel the air,” Eddie grits out. 

“Unfuckingbelievable,” Bev mutters, and Eddie laughs. 

“Hang on Marsh.” 

They push through the clouds, and before them is endless water. Eddie looks but sees nothing _but_ water, no land as far as he can tell. 

“It’s— it’s all water,” he grits through his teeth. 

“S-stuff of life,” Bev bites back, eyes screwed shut. 

“Twelve-hundred meters,” CASE informs them. 

“Fix on the beacon?” Eddie asks. 

“Got it.”

“I’m need to shave some speed — I’m gonna spiral down on top of it, hang on.” 

He yanks the stick to the left, body thrown to the right as the Ranger starts to spiral down. He holds steady to the stick, using every ounce of willpower he has not to black out. 

“Okay CASE, on my cue,” he grits out. “Bev, help me stabilize her.” 

Bev snaps back to attention, ever the professional, grabbing hold of her stick and holding it steady. 

“Five-hundred meters.” 

Eddie wait, looming closer and closer to the ocean below, until they’re nearly on top of it. 

“Fire!” 

CASE activates the thrusters and they grind to a halt, landing none too gently in the shallow water. They fling upright again, panting hard, and Bev shoots him a dirty look. 

“Very graceful,” Bev chastises once they’re stable. 

Eddie snorts. “No. But very efficient.” 

Bev just watches him, mouth agape as she shakes her head. 

“What the fuck are we waiting for?” Eddie barks, struggling to undo his seatbelt in his haste. “Come on, seven years per hour, let’s _go_!” 

They scramble up, CASE opening the rear door for them. Eddie moves as fast as he can without outright running, dropping down into the cold water below. It only reaches his shins, like an oceanic kiddie pool. 

Bev drops down next to him, CASE close behind. 

“Where is he?” Eddie asks, not spotting anyone for miles around. 

Panic starts to crawl up his throat, cold and gripping as they search. In the distance they see mountains, climbing towards the clouds. They round opposite sides of the Ranger and meet again at the front, both empty handed.  
  
“Where the _fuck_ is he?” Eddie growls, trekking slowly through the water and cursing with every step. 

“The signal’s about two-hundred meters, this way,” CASE says, leading them away from the Ranger. They follow, Eddie still searching, looking for any sign of life in the distance. 

“Gravity’s a bitch,” Bev pants next to him. 

“A hundred and thirty percent Earth’s gravity,” CASE says. 

“There’s nothing there,” Eddie says. “Where’s his Ranger?” 

“Keep calm, Kaspbrak,” Bev says firmly. “We’ll find him.”

“Come on,” Eddie mutters to himself. “Come on Bill, where the _fuck_ are you?” 

They approach the signal’s source, and slowly begin to recognize the signs of wreckage floating around them. Various pieces of metal and plastic appear in the water; Eddie nearly trips over the remains of a parachute. His heart drops out of his stomach, legs moving as fast as they can carry him through the punishing gravity and bulky water. 

“Bill!” he calls desperately, nonsensically. “Bill, where are you?” 

Bev hesitates a few paces ahead of him, looking down at something CASE digs out of the water. She looks terrified when she meets Eddie’s eyes. 

“His beacon,” she says weakly, pointing down at the large dish. 

Eddie sucks in a harsh breath, turning in place and scanning the water as far out as he can. 

“Bill!” he screams, nearly hysterical when there’s no response. “Bill, where the fuck are you!”

“Eddie,” Bev says urgently. 

He turns; she’s pointing to a spot thirty meters in the distance, where Eddie can just barely make out a speck of white bobbing in the water. 

“ _Bill!_ ”  
  
He runs, as fast as he can, Bev and CASE hot on his heels. The water holds him back, pulls at his legs like iron weights dragging him down. He trips once and Bev is right there pulling him back up, and then Bill is just steps away, floating face up in the water. 

“Bill, Bill, hey, it’s me,” Eddie cries when he reaches him, falling to his knees in the water. Bev is on Bill’s other side, holding him steady while Eddie paws at his forearm to check his vital signs. 

His eyes are closed, but his suit shows his vitals are mostly stable. His breath puffs against the helmet, but his blood pressure is low — low enough for Eddie to start to panic. He just barely stops himself from removing his helmet and checking his pulse rate manually. 

“We need to get him back to the Ranger,” Eddie says, ignoring the tremor in his voice. “ _Now._ How far out are we?” 

“About two-hundred and forty meters,” Bev answers, helping Eddie shift Bill into a sitting position. “Back towards the mountains. CASE, get him.” 

Eddie stands, letting Bev arrange Bill in CASE’s extended ‘arms’, for lack of a better word. He sees the Ranger in the distance, too far, and the mountains in the distance, and— 

_Oh, fuck._

“Bev,” Eddie breathes, barely audible. 

“What?” Bev pants back, scanning the water around Bill and not looking at him. 

“Those… aren’t mountains.” 

“What are you…”  
  
Bev comes up next to him, and he can feel it when she realizes. Can hear it in the sharp intake of breath in his ear. 

“Oh shit. Oh _shit._ ” 

“They’re waves.”  
  
“ _Shit!_ ” 

They turn, slowly, and in the distance another wave is moving towards them. Eddie tilts his head back as far as he can and still can’t see the top of it, larger than comprehension, and approaching fast. 

They start moving without consulting each other, running as fast as they can towards the Ranger. The wave they can see behind the Ranger is moving away from them, but even if they make it to the ship in time he knows they’ll be overtaken by the one behind them. 

“Faster!” Eddie gasps, grabbing Bev’s arm when she stumbles. “CASE, get Bill on board, go!” 

CASE races past them, Bill tucked against him, and Bev pants heavily in his ear. He feels a stitch in his chest but keeps going, keeps pushing — they’re only fifty meters away now. 

“Come on,” Bev gasps. “Almost there, come on—”

“CASE, get the engines running when you’re aboard,” Eddie instructs, barely hearing CASE’s affirmative response over the sound of his own heavy panting. 

Bev trips again, and when Eddie stops to help pull her up he sees the wave that’s been chasing them — too big, too close — close enough that droplets of it fall on his helmet. 

“Bev, get up, let’s _go—_ ”  
  
“Wait,” Bev says, still on her knees. She digs around near her feet and comes up with a large orange box. “His data, we need—” 

“We _need to go!_ ” he barks, tugging on her arm. 

She manages to snag one of the boxes before Eddie drags her away. They slosh through the water, and Eddie pants, pushing his body harder than he ever has before. 

The rear door is open when they reach it, and Eddie gets one final glimpse of the wave that’s about to consume them before he pulls Bev inside and CASE slams it shut behind them. 

“Hold on!” Eddie screams. 

He manages to grab hold of his seat just as the wave crashes — the momentum rips Bev out of his grip and throws her to the side of the ship. The sound is deafening, alarms sounding on top of the incredible thunderclap of sound from the water. Bev screams somewhere nearby, and Eddie sees CASE fold over her to hold her down as the wave lifts them, up up up. 

Eddie uses the break in the motion to throw himself in the seat, grabbing hold of the stick and trying to stabilize them — he tries to take off at the crest, but the engines are flooded and unresponsive. 

“Fuck — hold on!” he calls, hoping belatedly that Bill is tied down somewhere. 

Bev screams again as they fall, the feeling not unlike that of a rollercoaster, though he’s never been on a rollercoaster so tall. His stomach flies into his throat, swallowing his scream as they plummet down endlessly. 

_Don’t puke Eds!_

It’s Richie’s voice in his ear, Richie’s face in his mind as his eyes squeeze shut, holding onto the armrests for dear fucking life, and then just as suddenly, its over. They land in the shallow water again with a thud, and he nearly bites off his own tongue with the force of it. 

CASE sets down the landing legs and Eddie jumps up, using the adrenaline pumping in his veins to get them out of this mess. 

“How long until the engines CASE?” Eddie demands, Bev pulling herself to a sitting position in his periphery. 

“They’re too waterlogged, they need to drain,” CASE answers. “Twenty-five to thirty until they’re ready.” 

“Goddammit!” Eddie screams, pounding his fist against his seat. “Where’s Bill?”

“Strapped down in the medcot,” CASE answers. 

Eddie steps past Bev, opens the hatch that holds the single cot meant for medical emergencies. Bill is the same, still unconscious, vitals still mostly stable. He removes Bill’s helmet and feels his pulse — it’s slow but strong. He lets out a breath and then just leaves his hand there, pressed against Bill’s neck, trying to steady his own racing heart by matching Bill’s. 

"Stuff of life, huh," Eddie says severely. "What the _fuck_ just happened."

“We shouldn’t… we should never—” Bev gasps, and Eddie whips around to see her clutching her stomach, helmet off. She’s crouched on the floor, staring at the ground, her hair dripping with sweat. 

Eddie pulls off his own helmet and sucks in a deep breath. Anger and fear course hot through his veins, matching the adrenaline in his system. “Don’t fucking start, Bev.” 

“I’m not,” she argues. “I’m _not_ saying what you think I’m saying Eddie! I wanted to save Bill, this mission is _about_ saving people, I would never say we should have left him behind.”

“Then what are you saying?” Eddie snaps. 

“We should never have come down here this unprepared!” Bev cries. “Don’t you see? The only reason he’s even alive is because of the time slippage that we barely understand.”

“Wha-what do you mean?” Eddie gasps. 

“Because of the time slip, Bill just landed hours ago,” Bev explains, expression wild and terrified. “His ship probably just crashed minutes ago.”

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” Eddie swears, pounding his fist against the door to Bill’s cot. Bill doesn’t stir, which only serves to infuriate him more. 

“H-how much is this going to cost?” Eddie asks. 

Bev’s eyes squeeze shut, tears falling down her cheeks. “A lot. Decades.”

Eddie stumbles then, falling back against the door. His legs give out and he sinks down until he’s eye level with Bev. 

“Decades?” he breathes. 

Bev nods grimly.

“Fuck,” Eddie swears. 

He curls in on himself, hands tugging at his hair, elbows on his knees. _Decades._ He’s lost _decades_ of Richie’s life, countless years lost between them. Richie might be an old man by the time they get back to Endurance, if they make it back at all. If Richie’s even still alive. 

He chokes out a sound, somewhere between a sob and a scream, so overwhelmed he feels lightheaded with it. Richie will have given up on him when they get back, he’ll think Eddie abandoned him, he’ll think Eddie’s dead, he’ll — he’ll be lost to Eddie forever. 

“Eddie,” Bev says, softer now. “I’m so sorry.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s my fucking fault. You’re right — I let Bill cloud my judgement, I insisted we come here when we had no fucking clue, we’re so fucking unprepared for this—”

Bev shakes her head, grabs his arm. “No. Stop it. We made this decision as a _team_. We deal with the repercussions as a team. You’d never have been able to live with yourself if you left Bill here and you know it.” 

She squeezes his arm, and slowly he releases his death grip on his hair. His arms fall limply to his sides, moving to hold his knees instead. 

“Do you… is there any way to gain back the years? With Gargantua, I mean, we could—“

He can tell from her face what the answer is. “Eddie. I’m not the expert, but time — time is relative. It can stretch and squeeze but it can’t run backwards.”

“What about the beings that brought us here?” he asks, desperate now. “Maybe they—“

“‘ _Th_ _ey’_ are beings of five dimensions,” Bev explains gently. “To them, yes, time might be a physical dimension. To them, the future might be a mountain they can climb, the past a canyon they can jump into but for us it’s just. Not. We have no way of controlling time.”

“How do we know?” Eddie says. “Stan said there’s no way to know what happens to someone in a black hole, the center is unknowable, maybe—“

“Eddie. A human can’t survive the journey beyond the horizon of a black hole,” Bev says patiently. “It’s— I’m sorry. I’m counting every minute, same as you.”

But she isn’t. Because her heart is still ahead of them, not left behind like Eddie’s. 

“God, Stan and Patty,” Bev says, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes screw shut. “I hope they’re… CASE, can you—?”

“The Endurance is still in orbit. Drs. Uris and Blum haven’t relayed any messages, but there’s no reason to suspect they’re not still aboard and well.” 

“Tell them we’re heading back,” Eddie says, pulling himself up. He helps Bev to her feet and they take their places in the cockpit. 

“Oh shit,” Bev says, pointing. 

Eddie’s heart skips a beat. Another wave is approaching, and Eddie doesn’t think they’ll be so lucky twice. 

“ _Fuck._ How much longer for the engines, CASE?” 

“Still another few minutes, at least.” 

“We don’t have minutes. Bev, helmet on. I’m gonna have to spark it — CASE, blow the cabin oxygen through the main thrusters — get ready!” 

“Locked!” Bev announces next to him.

“Depressurizing!”

The Ranger shudders as it depressurizes, and Eddie hears the whir of the landing feet retract. The engines spark to life behind them in a gust of fire and fuel. 

“Engines up!” Eddie cries, and then they’re airborne. 

He turns the Ranger on her side, racing along the inner edge of the wave, just barely missing grazing the water as they get high enough to escape it. Eddie gives the engines even more juice, gritting his teeth, and then they’re in the atmosphere, leaving the watery graveyard behind them as they sprint for Endurance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF. if you've seen the movie you know whats coming next... see you guys as soon as i can <3 until then you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/edskaspbraking)


End file.
